Vampires Were People Too
by TraSan
Summary: The desert is a dangerous place filled with poisonous snakes, spiders and intense heat. With the addition of the civatateo Sam and Dean find themselves battling an ancient vampire along with their own inner demons. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Challenge Three

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **Sam and Dean don't belong to me. Bah!

**Beta'd: **By Wysawyg. Beta extraordinaire. Friend.

_Special thanks to Muffy who helped me with the Latin and the desert – having had experience with both._

**Timeline: **BetweenHouses of the Holy and Born Under a Bad Sign

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"Oh, God, why did I let you talk me into this again?" Sam sniffled and shivered. He hurt deep into his bones and he just could not get warm. He was definitely sick.

"I didn't talk you into anything," Dean protested, notching up the fan on the vent to the outside air and turning down the radio. He stole a glance at Sam before turning his eyes back onto the gravel road. "I told you to stay at the motel and get some sleep. I _said _I had this one covered. Just a little vampire beheading and I'd be back. Nothing to worry about."

"That's right," Sam mumbled. "That was how." He placed his hands in front of the vents, trying to soak in as much heat as possible through the palms of his hands. It wasn't enough.

"Sam, when we get there, I'll interview the priest. You stay in the car." Dean's eyes flicked to Sam once more, concern evident during the momentary eye contact. "It's bad enough you're infecting me with all your germs, but we don't need any more 'bad mojo.'"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Sam drew in a quick breath and then another, the warning signs of an impending sneeze. Dean held up one finger, then two, then three as the sneeze wound up and exploded. "Aah, aah, ahchoo!" Dean laughed and Sam held up one of his own fingers in response.

"What it means is giving a priest a dose of the super Sammy flu is bound to be frowned on," Dean said. "I, for one, don't care to be an innocent bystander in your game of Karma chicken."

Sam huffed and leaned back against the seat. His back hurt too. He tucked cold fingers into his armpits in an attempt to finally warm them. "I don't have the flu," Sam said. "I have a cold."

"No, you had a cold, which you gave to me." Dean eased off the gas pedal and the Impala slowed. "I got over it. You decided to get the flu."

"I didn't decide to get the flu." Sam sniffed. "You don't decide things like that."

"So you admit it's the flu?"

Sam rolled his eyes and did not miss the responding smirk on Dean's face. "Are we there yet?"

"We're here." Dean slowly pulled into the small parking area in front of the postage stamp sized church. The orange-pink crusty sand crunched under the Impala's tires as Dean eased the car to a stop. He turned off the ignition and twisted in his seat to face Sam. He rested an arm on the back of the seat and tapped Sam on the shoulder. "Wait here."

Sam scrunched up his face. "What? You were serious? Dean, I'm not waiting out in the car for you like some little kid." Unintentional resentment leaked into his tone. Too many long nights waiting in the car, the motel or some run-down apartment waiting for Dad and Dean to return from a hunt, not knowing if they were okay or not.

The setting sun behind Dean lit the sky with an orange fiery glow. The sun burned golden as it sank low in the horizon. Already the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. "Sam, this thing, whatever it is already attacked someone _in _the church. Face it, you're sick." Dean hit Sam lightly on the arm with the back of his hand. "It's not safe to go into a hunt when you aren't in top form."

"Alone in the car is safer than you watching my back?" Sam quirked an eyebrow at Dean. "Is that what you're telling me?"

Dean scowled and turned away from Sam to snag his keys out of the ignition and pocket them. "That was damn dirty pool, Sammy."

Sam swallowed a smug grin, unfolded himself and exited the car. The constant buzzing of insects that had followed them all day as they interviewed witnesses had died to a low-pitched hum. A hawk cried overhead and Sam looked up in time to see it swoop low to the ground and fly away with a snake in its talons.

He knew it was still warm, probably eighty-five degrees or more, but he shivered inside his jacket. Dean was right, he was sick. He probably shouldn't have conducted interviews with Dean today, just like he probably shouldn't be here now, but he hadn't wanted to miss the first-hand accounts.

He silently followed Dean to the church keeping his eyes peeled for procrastinating lizards and early venturing snakes. The animals had come out in force now that the sun no longer beat on the hot sand and most of them scurried along the rocky terrain. Coyotes yipped in the distance, but Sam kept his eyes trained on the ground in front of him. The last thing he wanted to do was step on anything that could bite, sting or poison him.

Dean entered the dimly lit church first. He turned around to Sam and held up a hand to stop him from entering the church. "Alright, I'll let you come in, but stay behind me and keep your eyes peeled."

"I got it, Dean," Sam said, suppressing a sigh. Cool air touched his skin, the interior of the church significantly cooler than the outdoors. Sam pulled his jacket tighter and fought against the shivers that threatened to appear. No need to get himself side-lined before he'd even started. Candles flickered and danced near the altar and a dark form sat hunched in the first pew. The person appeared to be praying.

Their boots made slight clumping noises on the hardwood floor despite their hunter's gait. The man did not look up, but as they drew nearer, Sam could pick out the hushed Latin murmur of the Ave.

"Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen." The priest made a sign of the cross as he finished. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen"

"Father," Dean said, as the priest finished. The priest looked up from his clasped hands at the brothers. "We wanted to talk to you about what's been happening to the people around here."

"¿Es usted la ayuda que llamé?" the priest asked. He stood and held out his hand to Dean.

"Yes, we are," Sam replied, earning a look of grudging respect from his brother.

"Dude, you know Spanish?" Dean asked in a stage-whisper.

"No, but I know Latin."

"I know Latin," Dean said, his face curled in the hint of a pout.

Sam's lips twitched in a half smirk when he heard Dean mumbling a portion of an exorcism under his breath. He reached out to shake the priest's hand. "Dean!" Sam protested when Dean knocked his hand away.

The priest shot Dean a disapproving look. "He's sick," Dean said to the priest, tugging on his nose and crinkling his face in mock disgust. Sam glared and Dean ignored him. "Trust me, you don't want to shake his hand."

"Ah, then I thank you," the priest replied with a small smile. "You are Dean, no?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, how'd you…"

"Ellen told me who she was sending," the priest replied, holding out his hand again. "I'm Father Rodriguez."

"Dean Winchester," Dean replied, shaking the priest hand. Father Rodriguez gestured for the brothers to follow him. "What?" Dean asked, in response to Sam's scowl of disapproval.

"Why'd you give him your name?" Sometimes Dean's behavior confused him even after all the years he'd spent watching his big brother. Dean was wanted by the police after all.

"I thought you of all people would appreciate me not lying to a priest. Talk about bad mojo." Dean ruffled Sam's hair in a remnant gesture of younger days. "I'm ashamed of you, Sammy."

"But I," Sam protested falling behind Dean. "I didn't…" Sam felt another sneeze welling behind his eyes and working its way down. "I, I didn't…ahchoo!"

"God bless you," Father Rodriguez said. He opened a door at the back of the chancel and motioned the brothers inside.

Sam walked in after Dean and delighted in the comforting warmth of the room. The low burning, crackling fire on the right wall provided not only the light for the room, but the extra heat. He had not noticed before now that the church did not have electricity of any kind, relying instead on the many candles to light the sanctuary.

A large, black and brindle mongrel dog lay in front of the fire chewing on a bone and tearing off little bits of meat. It thumped its tail in welcome when Dean reached down to pat it on the head on his way by.

"Perro beuno, Maximon," Father Rodriguez said, before taking a seat behind his desk.

Sam raised his eyebrows at the name the priest had chosen for his dog, but refrained from comment. He pulled the hardback chair inches closer to the fire and sat down, ignoring the look of concern from Dean. "Ellen said you suspect a civatateo."

"Sí, yes." Father Rodriguez picked up a small, carved wooden box and slid the lid open. He took out a match, struck it on the box and lit the two candles on his desk.

"Have you seen her?" Sam asked. He scooted to angle his chair so his entire back would be warmed by the fire.

"Not personally, no," the priest answered. He steepled his index fingers in a Spock-like gesture and his look became thoughtful. "Señor Gomez claimed to have seen the civatateo at the crossroads nearby before he was killed here in our church."

Dean smirked and elbowed Sam, nodding his head in the direction of the priest's hands. Sam scrunched his face. '_What?' _ Sam asked silently, with a brow crunch. Dean rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the priest.

"Señor Gomez was a member of your congregation?" Sam asked. "Do you know why he was here at the church when he was attacked?"

"Sadly, no, I do not," Father Rodriguez said. "He may have come here for confession. He had been in twice a week for the last three weeks instead of his usual confession once every week or so."

"Any idea why the sudden change?" Dean asked. Sam knocked Dean's knee with his own and Dean glared. "What? All I'm saying is that men don't usually go from being a little religious to a lot unless something happens."

"I would agree," Father Rodriguez said. "But I cannot tell you what the reason was. It was a private confession."

"This could be life and death here, Padre," Dean said, his tone slipping from reverence to a harder edge.

"It already has been." The priest leaned across his desk, his face lit by the flickering candles. "But my oath is sacred."

"Human life is sacred," Dean shot back, real heat climbing into his tone.

"Dean," Sam interjected, only to be cut short.

"Yes, it is. And it is fragile and fleeting. Only the Lord and his truth is forever, son. That is why the oath is sacred. It is a contract, a promise between me and God." Father Rodriguez sat back in his chair and reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a small pad of paper and a pencil.

"If we don't stop this thing, more people could die," Dean said. "Don't you have an obligation, an oath to them too?"

"Dean," Sam said. He was surprised at Dean's behavior. Yes, Dean cared about people and Sam knew Dean had many doubts if God existed. Scratch that, he had only a small sliver of belief that God might actually exist, but this – this was a strong reaction even for Dean. "It's okay, Father, we understand."

"No, Sam, we don't," Dean snapped. He pushed his chair back and stomped out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Sam sat staring after Dean, completely bewildered. _Dean, what the hell's going on with you?_

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Dean tapped a hand on his leg as he paced a tight circuit just outside the priest's door. He didn't dare walk far because they had no real proof yet what had caused Gomez's death. It wasn't as though he thought the priest was killing people, but he'd certainly seen stranger things in his lifetime.

He didn't have the patience for this. He couldn't understand how men hid behind the safety of God and the cloak of religion when the real battle waged on in front of them. Evil didn't knock softly at the door it crawled in through open windows and hid in the dark until apathy and fear gave it an opening. Gomez wouldn't be the only casualty if they couldn't figure this out and soon.

The door creaked open and Sam cautiously poked his head into the sanctuary. "Dean?" His voice sounded tired and raspy.

He should have made Sam stay at the motel. Sometimes his little brother's stubbornness was the stuff of legend. "Yeah," he replied, resigned. Sam wasn't going to let his outburst go and he couldn't explain his anger.

Sam's tall form slid out from behind the door and joined Dean at the altar. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." The near-whisper was not out of respect, but out of repentance. He was sorry he had snapped at the priest and left Sam alone to make apologies and finish questioning the father. The whole incident in Providence was too fresh and his doubts too new to survive another beating of faith. He didn't want the shades of gray that had recently settled about his life in an annoying blanket of confusion. Life was easier when viewed in black and white.

"Father Rodriguez gave me the address for Gomez. He thinks Pedro's widow, Maria, should be home." Sam tilted his head and made eye contact with Dean.

"Let's go talk to her," Dean replied. The light tap on Sam's arm served as a silent apology.

Sam nodded, the apology accepted. "She might not be willing to tell us anything."

"Sure she will," Dean said with a smile. He turned and walked down the aisle with Sam keeping close pace. "If my natural charm doesn't sway her, we can always turn sad, sick Sammy on her. No woman in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to mother you right now. You look positively pathetic."

"Nice. Thanks."

Dean heard the sharp intake of breath that signaled another sneeze on the way from his little brother. He stepped to the side and waited while Sam wound up one more time before letting loose with a resounding sneeze that echoed off the adobe walls of the small church. "I could drop you off back at the motel first," he offered.

"No." Sam fell back in step with Dean. He tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and shrank into his coat.

"I promise not to hunt it without you." Dean stopped and grabbed the sleeve of Sam's jacket.

Sam stopped short, sighed and slapped his arms against his sides. Dean nearly snorted at the perfect squinched expression of exasperation on Sam's face. "No."

Sam resumed walking and Dean had to jog a couple of steps to catch up. "Sam." If anything, Sam's stride lengthened as he rushed to the end of the short aisle. "Sam!"

He narrowly avoided running into Sam when his brother stopped abruptly. The deafening sneeze seemed to come at Dean from all angles as it bounced off the walls. "I think my head exploded," Sam said with a moan.

"That's it," Dean said with a note of finality. "We talk to Maria, grab some dinner and then you go to bed. No vampire beheading tonight," his last statement said with an air of regret. He wanted this thing gone.

"I'll be okay," Sam insisted. He resumed walking and Dean rushed to beat him to the door.

Dean pressed his palm against the warm wood preventing Sam from opening the door. Sam gave the handle a couple of feeble tugs before he huffed and turned to look at Dean. "I'll wait, Sam. I promise."

Sam gazed at him for several long seconds and Dean knew he was being evaluated. He had no problem with that, he was telling the truth. If waiting meant Sam would take it easy one more day, then he would wait. He didn't want to, but he would. The vampire had killed Pedro Gomez three days ago. It had taken two weeks from the initial sighting before she had gone in for the kill. They easily had a few hours leeway.

"I'll think about it," Sam said at long last. He sniffed and Dean resisted the urge to sideline his brother from the hunt. Sam would never go for it anyway.

He nodded, opened the door and held it for Sam. "Father Rodriguez seemed to think Maria knew why Pedro had started coming to confession more often and that she might be willing to talk to us about it," Sam said on his way by.

"Let's hope so," Dean said. Crusty sand crunched under his feet and he kept his eyes trained on the ground and his brother simultaneously. "We need something more to go on than Father Rodriguez's, 'I think it is a civatateo' story. Did he offer any reason he thought it was an ancient vampire?"

"Not really," Sam replied. He hesitated briefly at the passenger door after opening it. He leaned against the car and stretched his arms over the roof. "He did say two children have gone missing in the last week."

Dean groaned. There went their leeway. He opened the door and a waft of hot oven-baked air hit him in the face. "Damn, it's hotter than hell around here." The ill-chosen words hung heavy in the thick night air. He missed Dad.

"And you wanted me to wait in the car," Sam joked and Dean recognized the attempt at levity.

"I assumed you'd have the sense to get out of the car if it got too hot," Dean shot back. "Good to know."

Sam scowled and thumped the top of the Impala lightly before twisting and sliding into the car. Dean followed suit, slipped his keys into the ignition and brought his baby roaring to life. The trip to Maria Gomez's house passed in silence minus the occasional direction from Sam, both brothers lost in their own thoughts. One concerned for his brother and missing his father and the other wondering if this was yet more proof that evil often won no matter who was on your side.

The stars shone brightly in the darkening sky, but the crescent moon offered very little additional light. A yip from a coyote drew Dean's attention off the dark road that was illuminated solely by twin columns of light. The temperature in the air remained very warm, but he noticed Sam shivered several times and burrowed into his jacket. Sam's head bobbed once, twice, then listed to the right and rested on the passenger window. Dean smiled; his brother certainly needed the sleep.

He refocused on the road and the headlights reflected off the pale white skin, silvery white hair and white dress of an old gnarled woman standing in the middle of the road. She did not so much as flinch when Dean stepped hard on the brake with both feet, gravel spitting up around the Impala. The seatbelts jerked roughly and Sam's eyes popped open in panic. "Dean!" he wheezed.

"Hold on, Sam!" He knew the Impala would never stop on time. The heavy weight of the muscle car would send it straight into the old woman if he didn't do something. The car fish-tailed wildly and he turned the wheel sharply in the direction of the skid.

The Impala jumped the gravel road and into the sand and rocky ground. Dean cringed when he heard loud thumps as stones smacked the undercarriage. They shot past the woman and he turned the wheel again causing the Impala to hit the gravel once more and it slid sideways down the road before stopping.

Dean could hear the labored breathing of his sick brother trying to catch his breath after awakening to a near collision, but his eyes were trained on the hag that slowly approached the Impala. Her silvery eyes glittered, reflecting the small amount of moonlight available. The symbol of death tattooed on her forehead distorted in lines of rage when she opened her mouth and screamed.

"Dean, it's the civatateo."

……..…………………………………………………**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………..

AN: Show of hands – how many people here thought I could stick to one-shots for our challenge fics? Yeah, me neither.

I _promise _the next chapter of _Dead Men Tell No Tales _is nearly finished. I apologize profusely for the delay, but I was happily side-tracked at the convention in L.A.

Yep, Wysawyg – pretty much when I say I'm not gonna post because of X, Y or Z – I'm full of poo. I have every intention of not posting, but I can't seem to help myself!

Thanks for reading – Feedback welcome!

**Prompts:**

_The flu_

_Dogs chewing on bones_

_Civatateo – A Mexican/Aztec vampire. The civatateo was said to be a noblewoman who died in childbirth, making her a warrior and she returned with the powers of a priestess._


	2. Chapter 2

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **The boys, the car and the concept belong to Kripke and the CW. I'm just having fun.

**Beta'd: **By the ever-helpful and talented Wysawyg. Thank you so much. She made this so much better than it might otherwise have been!

_I had loads of homework after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are mine and mine alone._

_Special thanks to Muffy for being a willing sounding board and Charlie Girl for proof-reading this morning after I made said changes and had an attack of author's angst over whether or not it was ready to post._

**Time Line: **Between _Houses of the Holy_ and _Born Under a Bad Sign_.

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"_Hold on, Sam!" He knew the Impala would never stop on time. The heavy weight of the muscle car would send it straight into the old woman if he didn't do something. The car fish-tailed wildly and he turned the wheel sharply in the direction of the skid. _

_The Impala jumped the gravel road and into the sand and rocky ground. Dean cringed when he heard loud thumps as stones smacked the undercarriage. They shot past the woman and he turned the wheel again causing the Impala to hit the gravel once more and it slid sideways down the road before stopping. _

_Dean could hear the labored breathing of his sick brother trying to catch his breath after awakening to a near collision, but his eyes were trained on the hag that slowly approached the Impala. Her silvery eyes glittered, reflecting the small amount of moonlight available. The symbol of death tattooed on her forehead distorted in lines of rage when she opened her mouth and screamed._

……………………………………………………………..**Chapter Two**…………………………………………………….

Sam drew in a deep breath for the first time since awakening to a near accident. "Dean, it's the civatateo."

"Ya think?" Dean asked. His words sounded harsh, but the light sarcastic tone belied his true meaning. He was worried, not angry. He heard Sam fumbling with the seatbelt and held his arm out in front of his little brother. "Sam, stay put."

"Dean…"

Dean ignored the rest of Sam's protest, well aware that his brother continued to fight with the seatbelt anyway. The hag slowly and silently approached the car, her scream having died on bloodless lips moments ago. She raised one hand in the direction of the brothers. _Screw this, _Dean thought hotly.

He surreptitiously reached over Sam. His eyes never left the civatateo and his fingers grazed the knob of the jockey box. Just a little farther and he would be able to grab his extra gun. He could feel Sam trying to help him open the box, but even his little brother's gargantuan reach was not long enough when he was pulled tight against the seat by the safety belt.

Dean slapped Sam's hand away, opened the jockey box and slipped out the gun seconds before the silvery hag appeared at his window. She waved her chalky white hand towards the back of the Impala. "Ayya pacheoa!" she yelled, her face twisted in a grimace.

"What did she say?" Dean asked, his eyes never leaving the old woman.

"I don't know," Sam wheezed. "I don't recognize it, but I think she just insulted your car."

"Hey!" Dean shouted, his hand tightening around the handgun. It was smaller than the Colt, but it would do. "There's no reason to insult my baby."

"Macehualli," she hissed, the word filled with venom and her face contorted in anger. She pointed down the road. "Choloa!"

"Look, lady," Dean said, sarcasm lacing his voice. He lifted the gun slowly and twisted in the seat until the .38 was mere inches from the window. He kept it down and out of sight of the civatateo. "Back off!"

The ancient vampire gazed into his eyes, her exotic silver eyes sparkling. She curled her finger and beckoned to Dean as she stepped away from the door. "Panolitia," she called softly. A breeze drifted through the window carrying with it the scent of sand verbena, poppies and wild sunflowers. A smile spread across his face as he took in her appearance. She was simply breathtaking.

The world shrank until the only two things Dean was aware of, was the woman in front of him and his own need to be with her. He fumbled with the door handle and frowned at the temporary delay. He wanted to be with her now. The door finally opened and he walked towards her, his feet sinking slightly into the fine sand with each step.

Dimly he thought he heard Sam call his name. A voice inside Dean shouted at him to acknowledge his brother and that maybe Sammy needed him. He could hear his little brother coughing and he fought against the allure of the woman in front of him. But he couldn't resist her and he continued on to the enticing woman in flowing robes of white.

He stopped only inches from her. "You're beautiful," he said

The civatateo placed her hand on the back of Dean's neck and pulled his head downwards to meet her frozen lips in a passionate kiss. Icy fire burned his throat and chilled him from the inside. She pulled away from the kiss. "Amini," she whispered, narrowing her eyes appraisingly.

He grasped her head with both hands and pulled her back in to return the kiss with equal fervor. He could feel his insides seizing and he shivered violently. He lifted his head and looked deeply into her eyes. She was beautiful and he wanted to drink her all in. Distantly, he heard the squeak of his brother's door opening and the resounding slam when it closed, but he ignored both.

"Hey!" Sam yelled. Dean turned and looked in the direction of Sam's call. His little brother sat only feet away, on the hood of the Impala, holding Dean's .38 Special. Dean frowned and looked at his hands. When had he put his gun down and why was Sam pointing it at her?

"Put the gun down, Sam," he said, his voice soft in spite of the fact he was not at all pleased Sam was holding his gun and pointing it his woman.

"Let him go," Sam said, ignoring Dean.

"Sammy, it's fine," Dean replied, trying to placate Sam. Little brothers had a way of showing up at just the wrong moment. "Wait in the car."

"No." Sam's stubborn stance hardened and his aim on the civatateo never wavered. "Dean, they mess with your head. She can make you…" Sam squirmed with discomfort and he seemed to choose his next words carefully. "…Feel a certain way about her."

"I'm fine," Dean started, until the vampire placed two fingers on his lips. She walked towards Sam in a graceful, almost regal gait. As she moved away from him and towards his little brother the odd feelings of intense attraction thinned and wavered.

The veil of confusion lifted and Dean blinked against the conflicting information his brain tried to process. The beautiful woman in white was gone and an old hag in tattered rags lurched towards Sam. He shook his head to clear it, obviously, both women were the civatateo.

He pivoted on his heel and took three jogging steps to stand between the civatateo and his little brother. She wasn't getting her gnarled hands anywhere near Sam. "Leave him out of this," he growled. He placed his hands on her shoulders to keep her from advancing any closer to his brother.

"Dean, move," Sam commanded behind him. "I have a clear shot."

Dean did not turn his head to look at his brother, but instead kept his gaze focused on the ancient vampire. "No! Get back in the car."

"Conetl icniuhtli?" the vampire asked, tilting her head to one side. A slow, malicious grin spread across her face. She raised her hand, palm facing Sam. "Tonehua cocoxqui mococoa. Miqui!" Sam's face twisted and he coughed then again and again over and over, the cough building until his face turned red.

"Sammy?" Dean grabbed the vampire's arm and twisted it sharply behind her in one motion. "I said, leave him out this!" The civatateo peered over her shoulder at Dean and started laughing. Dean fumbled with his grip on her shriveled arm.

Her form lost substance and became semi-transparent, loose grains of sands intermingling with the molecules of her body. Her form became less and less dense as the grains of sand grew in quantity. They started swirling, slowly at first and then with growing intensity. The wind picked up and the sand of the civatateo spun into a dust devil.

The dust devil whirled about the brothers, scouring them with desert sand. Dean closed his eyes against the stinging granules and tried not to breathe certain he would inhale a lungful of dust if he did. The wind picked up another notch and needles of sand dug into his exposed skin and scalp. _Son of a bitch that hurts! _

He lifted his arm to his mouth and nose trying to give himself a pocket of air to breathe, but the sand was hitting too fast and hard. Dean walked blindly in the direction of his brother. They had to get inside the car if they had any hope of surviving. Before he could reach his destination, the wind stopped. Furiously he wiped sand out of his eyes and spit it out of his mouth. Blinking rapidly, he searched frantically for his brother.

Sam was crouched down by the car with his hand on the door handle. Sand caked his hair and completely covered his jacket and pants.

"Sam!" Dean shouted.

Rising like a survivor of Pompeii, Sam stood and rivers of sand ran in swirls down the fabric of his clothing. He shook his head to rid it of the sand and turned towards Dean.

Dean closed the distance between them in record time. "Sam?"

Sam coughed in chest-racking barks, puffs of dust escaping with each one.

"Sam?" Dean placed a hand on his little brother's shoulder and dipped his head to make eye contact. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam replied, cracking a small smile, "For someone with sand up his nose, in his ears and down his throat."

"Yeah," Dean agreed with a puff of air. "That sucked out loud. Did you know she could do that?" He gently steered Sam back to the passenger side of the car.

"Know she could what?" Sam asked, his scratchy voice squeaking in duet with the passenger door, "The 'seduce my big brother' part or the 'supernatural tornado' part?"

"The supernatural tornado part, well, both really," Dean grimaced. "God, she tasted like ass."

"You know what ass tastes like?" Sam smirked. He started to ease down to the seat when Dean gave him a light shove and he fell down the rest of the way to the leather, tumbling backwards.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean growled, his lips curling into a smile in spite of himself. "You know what I meant."

Sam chuckled and struggled to sit up. He had barely managed to right himself when Dean crouched down next to him. "Seriously, Sam, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam replied by rote. He suppressed three small half-coughs and Dean knew Sam was trying to cover up how bad he really felt.

He placed a hand on Sam's forehead, but the sand covered Sam like a second skin. He couldn't tell if Sam had a fever or not. He didn't like this, not one little bit. "I think we should go back to the motel for tonight," Dean announced, standing up.

"That's not necessary, I…" Sam stopped talking when Dean shut the passenger door. "Jerk," he muttered.

Moments later, Dean plopped down in the seat next to Sam. He turned to look at his little brother. Underneath all that sand, Sam looked pale and miserable. "Really, Sam, I'm not asking. We're going back for tonight."

Sam relaxed his features, the frowning wrinkles in his forehead disappeared and the defiance in his eyes softened. "Dean, you're right. I feel like crap. But, I'm good enough to get this over with tonight and maybe sleep in a little tomorrow."

Dean had to hand it to his little brother. He knew how to talk a good game and push all the right buttons. If they didn't interview Maria tonight, Sam would probably be glued to his computer all night researching anyway. If they got the information tonight, maybe Sam would get a little sleep.

"So? Whatcha got on this thing?" Dean asked finally. He started the car and headed back down the road towards Maria's.

"Not much yet," Sam said, his voice full of self-recrimination. "I sort of fell asleep the other night while I was researching."

"I remember," Dean said. Sam had been up for several hours trying to research the civatateo, but his cold had morphed into full-fledged flu and he had spent more time sneezing and shivering than reading. A little cold medicine in his dinner had taken care of his stubborn brother. "I am the one that spiked your milkshake," he goaded.

"You what?" Sam asked, incredulous. His eyebrows threatened to crawl up into his hairline and take up residence. "You drugged me?"

"I pharmaceutically encouraged you to sleep," Dean quipped, glancing quickly at his little brother. "Just like Dad did with the Dimetapp when you were teething."

Sam narrowed his eyes and Dean knew Sam was trying to decide if he was teasing or not. "Wha, wha, what-choo," Sam sneezed into the elbow crease of his jacket. "Whatever, Dean," he groused. He crossed his arms and sniffed loudly. "Anyway, I don't know if beheading works on a civatateo, especially when it's in dust bunny form."

"Pretty much works on everything, Sam," Dean replied. He tapped the brakes to avoid hitting a jack rabbit bounding across the road. Sam tossed him a concerned glance at the sudden stop and Dean shrugged his shoulders. "It's just a rabbit," Dean intoned with a badly rendered British accent.

Sam shook his head. "You know that movie entirely too well for it to be healthy."

Dean smirked. "Hey, it's not my fault your knowledge of classic movies is lacking. It's not like I haven't tried to set a good example."

Sam huffed in amusement and twisted in his seat to look at Dean. "Anyway, the only thing I know right now is the civatateo can lead men to sexual deviancy, they steal children and cause disease and death. They are reported to haunt crossroads at night looking for children and they frequently wander holy places and churches." Sam absently scratched at a spot on his cheek causing sand to flake off and coat the leather seat in fine granules.

Dean stared pointedly at the sand and Sam hurriedly brushed it off the seat. "You're kidding right?" Sam asked. "What difference do a few grains of sand make, considering?" Sam gestured to the piles of sand on the floor boards, their clothes, the dashboard and the back seat.

"It makes a difference, Sam." Dean insisted, tossing Sam a lop-sided grin which Sam returned.

"Isn't the turn somewhere up here?" Dean waved a hand in front of him, gesturing to both sides of the road.

"We're looking for Yucca Lane on the right," Sam said, peering into the darkness.

"Got it," Dean replied. He tapped his hand on the steering wheel and glanced over at Sam. He didn't appear to be any worse for wear after their run-in with the civatateo, but Dean didn't like that she'd held out her hand towards Sam and shouted God only knew what at his little brother. Something wasn't sitting well with him about the whole thing, but then again, it could be the awful after-taste left in his mouth from the kiss that was making him nauseated.

"Dean, turn here!" Sam shouted near his ear. It was obvious from Sam's tone that it wasn't the first time Sam had tried to get his attention.

"I got it," Dean insisted, as he tapped the brake and turned the wheel sharply. The Impala bounced along the rutted driveway and came to a stop in front of a small stucco house. "Let's get this over with. I could really use a hot shower and a cold drink right about now."

"Me too," Sam agreed. "I think I swallowed half the desert."

Dean grinned, pocketed his keys and exited the car.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam swallowed hard. It felt like sand scraping down his dry throat. He watched while Dean pulled on his shirt trying to rid himself of excess sand. He lacked the motivation to follow his big brother. Standing right now sounded like it would take too much effort and he was so tired.

He heard a chorus of screeching cries and his eyes followed the sound to a black leathery cloud of bats in the distance. Sam rubbed his eyes with his fists and grimaced as tiny flecks of sand dug into his corneas. "Get up, Winchester," he chastised himself.

With a stifled groan he climbed out of the Impala and walked over to Dean. His stiff joints protested and his geriatric shuffle did not go unnoticed by his brother. "Feeling a little stiff there, Grandpa?" Dean asked. The tone was teasing, but the furrowed brow and tight lips told Sam the truth. Dean was concerned for him.

"Shut up," Sam said, tugging on the collar of his jacket. "I can't help it if I'm walking more stiff-legged than your girlfriend out there." Sand slipped down the back of his shirt, sliding down the curve of his back and into the waistband of his jeans. "Just great," he muttered under his breath.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sammy," Dean said. "She may have looked like an old woman, but she moved like a yoga instructor." Sam wrinkled his brow. Whatever spell she had placed on his brother earlier had certainly been a strong one.

Dean jerked his head in the direction of the house and Sam nodded. Sandy or not, it was time to talk to Maria. The pathway up to the house was dimly lit by light from the windows of the house. Sam heard the faint sounds of a baby crying accompanied in the distance by a coyote howl.

He shivered against the cooling night air and dragged one foot after the other towards the house. He definitely felt sicker not better. This was not good. He didn't have time to be sick when Dean could be affected even more than they realized by the civatateo.

Dean made it to the door first and rapped on the solid wood. The running footfalls and children's laughter could be heard from inside. A young woman answered the door, two small heads poking out around the door just below hip level. "Yes?"

"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Gomez," Dean said, extending his arm. "Father Rodriguez sent us. He thought you may be able to tell us more about your husband."

The door opened further casting warm blocks of light onto the front steps. "You are the men who are here to investigate Pedro's death?" She returned Dean's handshake before opening the door wider and gesturing them inside. "Father Rodriguez said he sent for help. Not many here believe in the civatateo, but a few of us are direct Aztec descendants and we know what we saw."

Sam stepped into the house behind his brother and shook his head at the offered seat of an upholstered armchair. "I'm covered in sand." He couldn't wait for a hot shower and to crawl into bed.

"This is the desert," Maria replied, gesturing to the chair again. "We are used to the sand."

"Thank you," Sam replied, taking a seat. "What did you see?"

Maria pulled up a stool and sat down. The brother and sister sat down cross-legged on the floor beside her. "Pedro and I were driving back from town and the children were asleep in the back seat. She just – appeared in the middle of the road. Pedro barely stopped the car in time. The civatateo looks like an old wrinkled woman with a tattoo of death on her forehead."

Maria sniffed and motioned for the children to go down the hall. "Go to your rooms. I'll call for you later."

"Aw, mama," the little boy whined. He pursed his bottom lip and his large brown eyes gave Sam's hang-dog expression a run for his money.

"Come on," the girl ordered, grabbing her brother by the shirt collar. "Mama said to go to your room."

Sam heard the argument continue on down the hall even as the boy complied with his mother's and sister's demands. He refocused on Maria who was busy straightening invisible wrinkles on her skirt. "I know this is hard for you," Sam said. "But we need to know exactly what happened."

Maria looked up at Sam, her eyes filled with unshed tears swimming in pools of deep brown. "Pedro didn't say anything. He left the car and went straight to her when she called him. He said later that he did not know what came over him, but he kissed her." Maria dabbed her eyes with a tightly bunched handkerchief.

"Did she say anything to him?" Dean asked, leaving his sentry post and crouching down beside Maria.

"No." Maria fingered the gold band on her finger. "She didn't say anything until I tried to pull Pedro away from her and then she, she cursed me."

"Cursed you?" Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You understood what she said?"

Maria's eyes opened in surprise and her gaze flitted from Dean to Sam and back to Dean. "I thought you knew. I speak Nahautl, the same as the civatateo."

"What did she say?" Sam asked, studiously avoiding Dean's face. He couldn't make eye contact with Dean right now. He knew what he'd find.

"She said, 'Tonehua cocoxqui mococoa. Miqui!' It means: pain, disease, sickness and death." Tears escaped Maria's eyes and ran down her face. "I would have thought that she had cursed Pedro except she asked him if I was his namictili and the nantl of our children before she said the curse."

Sam looked up at Dean briefly and saw the tilt of his head and the eyebrow lift of any unspoken question. He nodded his head in reply. "Have you been sick?" Sam asked. He took a closer look at Maria and noticed for the first time the dark patches under her eyes and how thin and gaunt she was. It was obvious Maria had been very ill.

"Yes," Maria said. "I was very sick. Pedro blamed himself. He said if he had not kissed her, if he had not entertained impure thoughts, she would not have cursed me." Maria's tears turned into silent sobs. "I was dying and Pedro said he could fix it. I did not think…I would have stopped him if I had known." She covered Sam's hands with her own. "You cannot kill a civatateo. When she curses someone either the soul dies or the body does. It is the loophole that Pedro used to save me."

"He killed himself, didn't he?" Sam asked, his voice soft. It fit; both the location and the Father's extreme reluctance to speak about it. Pedro had committed an unforgivable sin to save his wife. "He confessed his sins and then he broke the curse by killing himself to save you?"

"Yes," Maria sobbed in earnest now. She pulled desperately on the sleeves of Sam's jacket. "You have to believe me. I would have stopped him if I had known. I was prepared to die so that Pedro would live."

Sam slid off the chair and knelt in front of Maria, making them eye level with each other. "Pedro knew that. The only problem is he felt the same way about you." Maria clutched Sam's collar and he wrapped his arms around her.

Cautiously he lifted his head and saw on Dean's face what he had been afraid he would find. Dean's mind had clicked through Maria's story and reached a decision. And if the clenched jaw and determined glint in Dean's eyes didn't perfectly convey his thoughts, his stiff body posture certainly did.

"It'll be okay," Sam said quietly. He maintained eye contact with his brother and placed a comforting hand behind Maria's head, pulling her closer. "We'll take care of this. It'll be okay."

Dean's hard stance did not change, but he nodded once before turning away. A cough tickled Sam's throat and he fought against it, his eyes watering. The urge to cough grew until Sam thought his chest would explode. He abruptly pulled away from Maria, stood and turned his back. The coughing started as quiet bursts of air and soon turned into deep, wet hacks as he tried to eject the traitorous lungs from his chest.

He felt a hand on his back and didn't need to look to know it was his brother's. Maria placed her wrinkled handkerchief in his hand and he nodded a thank you, not able to spare any breath to say the words. He felt light-headed as the coughing fit continued, his lungs starved for oxygen. Black specks appeared in his vision and Sam placed a hand on the back of armchair to maintain his balance.

Finally, he felt something break loose from deep inside his lungs and he coughed it up, spitting into the white embroidered hanky. He sucked in deep gulping breaths and concentrated on remaining upright. Dean's hand left his back and grabbed his wrist firmly. Sam's hazel met his brother's worried green and he furrowed his brow. He followed Dean's line of sight down to the handkerchief still clutched in his hands.

Flecks of sand glittered brightly in a puddle of red.

………………………………………………………**Supernatural**……………………………………………………………..

AN: We're experiencing a typical Oregon spring. Yesterday, we went to the coast and spent a sunny day at the beach, flying kites, climbing rocks and beach-combing. Today I woke up to a layer of snow on the ground. LOL.

I guess I shouldn't complain. It's good hiking weather!

Thanks all who have been reading. Feedback welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **Sam and Dean belong to Kripke, the Civatateo belongs to the Aztec and the errors belong to me! BG.

**Beta'd: **By Wysawyg who is the absolute ultimate! She's a great author and the best beta! She made this chapter better than it otherwise would have been. _Thanks for the great suggestions and for keeping Sam's magical, massaging hair in check. LOL_

_As usual, I had homework after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are my own._

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

"_It'll be okay," Sam said quietly. He maintained eye contact with his brother and placed a comforting hand behind Maria's head, pulling her closer. "We'll take care of this. It'll be okay."_

_Dean's hard stance did not change, but he nodded once before turning away. A cough tickled Sam's throat and he fought against it, his eyes watering. The urge to cough grew until Sam thought his chest would explode. He abruptly pulled away from Maria, stood and turned his back. The coughing started as quiet bursts of air and soon turned into deep, wet hacks as he tried to eject the traitorous lungs from his chest. _

_He felt a hand on his back and didn't need to look to know it was his brother's. Maria placed her wrinkled handkerchief in his hand and he nodded a thank you, not able to spare any breath to say the words. He felt light-headed as the coughing fit continued, his lungs starved for oxygen. Black specks appeared in his vision and Sam placed a hand on the back of armchair to maintain his balance._

_Finally, he felt something break loose from deep inside his lungs and he coughed it up, spitting into the white embroidered hanky. He sucked in deep gulping breaths and concentrated on remaining upright. Dean's hand left his back and grabbed his wrist firmly. Sam's hazel met his brother's worried green and he furrowed his brow. He followed Dean's line of sight down to the handkerchief still clutched in his hands. _

_Flecks of sand glittered brightly in a puddle of red._

…………………………………………………………**Chapter Three**…………………………………………………………

Dean didn't release Sam's wrist as he carefully plucked the handkerchief out of Sam's fist and examined it closely. It was definitely sand granules and blood. Sam's blood. He balled the handkerchief and stuck it in his coat pocket. "We'll return it to you after we get it cleaned," Dean assured Maria. He put on his best charming smile, but he didn't make eye contact with her. His only concern right now was for his little brother.

Sam was panting heavily, trying to catch his breath. The death grip he had on the chair preventing any blood from reaching his chalk-white fingers. Dean moved his grip from Sam's wrist to his elbow, offering himself as a steadying post.

"Thanks," Sam said breathlessly. Sam had to be struggling if he not only accepted Dean's help, but gratefully, and not with the scowl of a little brother wronged by perceived hovering.

"You saw her, didn't you?" Maria asked. Her voice was fearful and her words hesitant. "You saw the civatateo."

"Yeah," Dean said. He tried to steer a mostly pliant Sam towards the door, but Sam grew resistant and turned to face Maria.

"Can you tell us anything else?" Sam asked. He tossed Dean a look of minor annoyance when Dean tugged on his elbow. "Anything at all, even if you think no one would believe you?"

Maria's eyes flitted down the hall in the direction her children had disappeared a few minutes ago. Her gaze returned to the brothers and she knotted the hem of her shirt with her fingers in apprehension. "The legend of the civatateo states that each one was a noblewoman who died in childbirth. That death is considered a warrior's death and she was awarded all the powers of a priest."

"Wait, so she's like a god?" Dean asked. His stomach sank; he had a bad feeling about this. "A blood-thirsty, Aztec god or a beautiful goddess of Greek love, god?" He gave Sam a dirty look for the raised eyebrow that shot up in response. "What? I read." Sam's eyebrow climbed higher until it disappeared behind disheveled bangs.

Maria glanced first to Sam and then back to Dean before continuing. "The civatateo are from Aztec myth and you are correct, our gods were often not benevolent. I do know she follows Huitzilopochtli westward as the sun sets."

"The Hummingbird?" Sam asked, his voice raw from coughing.

Maria's face registered not only surprise at Sam's words, but fear. Not that Dean could blame her. The civatateo was still out there and if she'd attacked Maria before, he could see why she'd be afraid for her family. Dean, however, chose pissed. The soulless freak had cursed his little brother and she was going down.

"Yes, the Hummingbird." Maria gave Dean a stern, disapproving look when he half-snorted. The look faded quickly back to apprehension. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to help you." Tears welled in Maria's eyes and she brushed at them with the back of her hand.

Sam placed a hand on her shoulder when a small sob escaped her lips. "Are you going to be okay?" Sam asked, softly.

Maria graced Sam with a watery smile. "Eventually." She dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

"I know it's hard for you to talk about this," Sam said, his eyes conveying his sincerity. "We appreciate your help."

Maria drew in a deep breath and sighed, her brown eyes radiating with her heart's anguish. "I wish I knew of a way to defeat her, but surely the answer is in the old legends." When the tears started afresh, she sniffed, "One of you must die to save the other. It is the only way I know works for certain."

"No one's dying here," Dean said harshly, his eyes flicking up to Sam's. "You hear me?"

Maria sniffed again. "I think I need to be alone. I am sorry."

"It's okay, we're leaving," Dean said. He took a step closer to Maria and whispered. "How much time have I got here?"

Maria looked up at Dean, her brown eyes swimming with tears now and her cheeks wet. "It is different for everyone. When Pedro, when he…" Maria trailed off and lowered her gaze. When she continued her voice was barely above a whisper. "It had only been three days and I was very sick. If Pedro had not summoned the civatateo I believe I would have died that night."

Three days? That was hardly any time at all. Panic flared in Dean's chest, but he ruthlessly squashed it. "Thank you for talking to us."

Maria nodded at Dean. She turned her attention to Sam and offered him a small smile. "For what it is worth, I am sorry. I know what you are going through. If you need anything, my home will be open to you."

"Thanks," Sam replied simply. He swayed nearly imperceptibly and placed a hand on the arm chair to steady himself.

Dean motioned to Sam and waited until he headed for the door to follow. Sam walked slowly and carefully picked his way to the door. Dean frowned and closed the gap in two quick steps. Sam's gait resembled an old man, an old man with arthritis and a bad case of gout. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said. He opened the door and the smell of rotting flesh assaulted the brothers' senses.

Dean scrunched his face in disgust before a horrifying thought occurred to him. "Is it back? Do you see her?" He pushed his way past Sam's lean form and out onto the front steps. He peered into the blackness, but other than the scent increasing, he couldn't find a trace of anything unusual.

"I think it's the yucca from along the main road," Sam stated. "Its blossoms are supposed to smell like rotting meat to attract bats and crows for pollination and scent travel for miles out here."

Dean stood agape for a second before a crooked grin appeared on his face and he raised his hand to backslap Sam on the chest only to stop midair. He didn't want to precipitate a coughing fit. "That's my geek-boy," Dean quipped. "Good thing you've still got it, Sammy. I think we're gonna need it."

Sam gripped the railing and stepped down the stairs. A cool breeze carried the scent of night-blooming flowers and chilled the air. Stars twinkled brightly in the dark sky and sand crunched under their boots as the brothers walked to the Impala. Sam rested his hand on the handle of the passenger door and looked at Dean over the top of the car. "You know, we may not be able to figure this out in time." Sam's quiet tone included a hint of apology at his perceived future short-comings.

"We will," Dean insisted, firmly. He opened the driver's door and motioned with his head for Sam to sit down. Even in the dark, Dean could see Sam roll his eyes before slipping inside the car. He waited for the passenger door to close with a gentle slam to join Sam in the Impala.

He could see the look on his brother's face, the one that Sam used when he was trying to look impassive and failing miserably. The tight-lipped, squinchy-eyed, furrowed brow, I'm a tough guy look that just didn't quite fit on Sam's face. There was no clearer sign that his little brother was scared and internalizing a shit load of emotion that he didn't want Dean to know about.

"We will, Sam," Dean repeated. He didn't need to complete the rest of his thoughts out loud, nor did he need Sam to tell him what the small huff of disapproval meant. Instead, the silence in the Impala spoke of insecurity laced with resoluteness. Neither willing to admit they were afraid, but both determined not to let the other do the unthinkable.

Dean wanted to flick on the radio, blast the speakers and lose himself to the pounding strains of music if only for a few minutes. He didn't though, one side-glance at Sam was enough to keep his hand off the dial. Sam's fingers were hidden underneath increasingly wild locks of brown and were rubbing his temples.

Sam broke the silence first. "You're headed back to the motel?"

"You want to go anywhere with a sandbox in your shorts?" Dean asked. He chuckled silently at Sam's glare. "We need showers, dinner and maybe a little sleep before the sun comes up."

"I agree about the shower," Sam said, his gravelly voice cracking. "There's sand everywhere." Sam glanced around the car and swept some sand off the dash onto the floorboards. "How long do you think it's going to take to get it out of the Impala?"

"That depends," Dean said. "How hard are you going to work on it?"

"Me?" Sam asked. "I thought…"

"That maybe I'd clean out my car and leave you alone so you could research the civatateo?" Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked at Sam. "How can you even think about research when my baby needs attention too?"

"Are you serious?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.

Dean held back a laugh and schooled his features. It'd been awhile since he'd been able to pull a fast one on Sammy. "I never joke about my car."

"Dean." Sam's voice was all but a whine of protest. "I don't think that's the…" He broke off at Dean's chortle of amusement. "You're a jerk, you know that?" Sam said, laughter infiltrating his voice.

Dean shifted in the seat and opened his mouth to reply when a sharp, piercing jab attacked his right hip bone. "Ouch," he muttered under his breath. He reached down to scratch and the pain intensified. "Son of a bitch."

"What's the matter?" Sam asked, his eyes radiating concern. "Are you okay?"

"Sam, relax," Dean said trying to reassure his little brother. "Something's poking me and – ouch – damn it!" He struggled to reach whatever was relentlessly burrowing into his skin while keeping one hand on the steering wheel and an eye glued to the road. He had just about reached it when Sam abruptly turned the wheel causing the car to lurch and Dean to lose his grip on it.

"For God's sake, Dean, pull over!" Sam commanded.

"I can do this," Dean growled. His fingers grazed a long, thin inflexible sliver directly over his hip bone. He winced as the movement of grabbing it jabbed it further into his skin. With one smooth tug it was free. "Got it," he said, waving it in Sam's face as proof. Sam snagged it from his hand. "Hey, that was mine."

"And now it's mine," Sam crowed. Dean frowned and mouthed the words back at Sam in mockery; although, he did seem to remember using that logic on his little brother more than once.

Sam reached into the duffel sitting on the back seat and fished out the flashlight. He coughed a couple of times as his lungs protested all the twisting and pressure against the seat and Dean watched him carefully for a moment. The coughing stopped without incident and Dean breathed in a small sigh of relief.

"It looks like a cactus spike," Sam observed, twisting the needle under the light. "You probably picked it up from the sand."

Dean squirmed in the seat and rubbed his hip. It burned where the cactus needle had been. He shifted again. "Stupid thing burns."

"I wouldn't move around so much, Needles McSquirmy-pants," Sam cautioned. "It may not be the only one."

Dean instantly stilled. "You think? I mean, with all the moving around we've already done, don't you think I'd already know."

"You didn't this one," Sam reminded him. "I'm just saying you got off lucky all things considered."

Dean's eyes opened wide as the ramifications of Sam's statement sunk in. "Well hell." Sam chuckled lightly. "Laugh it up, Sammy. Just because you didn't find one yet doesn't mean you don't have one in your pants too."

The grin dropped off Sam's face. "Avoid the bumps," he intoned.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Thirty minutes later Dean eased the Impala into the motel parking lot. Sam yawned deeply, but avoided stretching. He felt like he could sleep for a week and he didn't have time for that. They only had approximately three days to figure out how to defeat the civatateo.

Dean was out of the car with the duffel bag before Sam could get his door open. He thought Dean was in a hurry to get inside and search his clothes for cactus spikes until the passenger door opened. The concerned look on his big brother's face made his heart sink. This hunt was going sideways quickly, even by their standards.

"Are you actually getting out of the car?" Dean asked. "Or were you planning on sleeping here?"

Perfect. Dean's words contained just enough sarcasm mixed with borderline obnoxiousness to let Sam know his brother was a little freaked. "Nah, I figured I'd take pity on you and let you have a head start to the shower. You know that's the only way you're going to beat me in there."

"Not even on your best day, Sammy," Dean said, a smile gracing his features and his mood seeming to lift a fraction. He leaned inside the car and wrapped a hand around Sam's arm. "Lucky for you I'm feeling generous today. You get the shower first."

"Thanks." Sam swung his legs out of the car. "I got it, Dean." He tugged his arm a couple of times trying to free it from Dean's grip.

"I know," Dean replied and in his irritating big brother way completely disregarded it. The strong pull on Sam's arm helped him get his bearings and, if Sam was being honest with himself, his butt out of the car.

Sam leaned heavily on the side of the Impala and Dean slammed the door shut. "Dean, we're going to have to talk about this."

"Not right now," Dean countered, effectively dismissing Sam. "Showers, food, sleep. Then we'll discuss how we're going to beat this thing."

"That's not what I…" Sam trailed off when Dean turned his back and headed for the motel room. Sam sighed and followed slowly behind him. Dean was already in avoidance mode. By the time Sam crossed the threshold Dean was sitting on the bed, untying his shoes.

Sam noticed his duffel was sitting on his bed. He tightened his lips into a fine line. Dean had put it there before sitting down which meant he was on the verge of hovering. Sam stood in the doorway with his hand resting on the frame studying his brother and trying to gauge what he was thinking. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dean was not only feeling guilty for some reason that would only make sense to Dean, but that he was also trying to help Sam without being obvious about it. That usually only meant one thing, he was worried and trying not to let Sam know.

Sam picked the best strategy possible and that was to ignore Dean's behavior until he could call him on it. Right now the best he could hope for would be sarcasm and deflection. He shut the door and crossed the room to his duffel when Dean looked up from pulling off his socks. A small stream of sand poured out of the sock and onto the rock tile floor.

"I'll try not to take too long in the shower," Sam said as he pulled clothes out of his duffel. He'd have to change everything from t-shirt to socks as they were all filled with fine sand.

"No hurry," Dean said, his eyes flicking to Sam before turning his attention back to his shoes. He pounded the heel of the shoe on his palm and puffs of sand joined the pile on the floor.

Sam scrunched his forehead until wrinkles appeared. "No hurry?"

"Nope," Dean replied. He balled up his socks and tossed them in the corner. When Sam remained rooted to the spot, Dean looked up and frowned. "What?"

A deafening sneeze was the response. "Sorry," Sam said sheepishly. He rubbed his nose with his finger. He'd sneezed sand out of his nose and it itched and burned.

A look of concern made a brief appearance before Dean banished it with a smirk. "Go, before I change my mind."

Sam rolled his eyes, but gathered the armful of clothes he had assembled on the bed and headed for the bathroom. The bathroom was small, but the shower had a power nozzle and Sam was looking forward to the massaging action on his aching muscles and joints. He placed his fresh clothes on the counter and turned on the shower water to heat. He pulled his jeans down to his knees before he remembered he should be checking for cactus needles and stopped short. He carefully examined his jeans and, finding them to be needle-free, he let them drop to the floor and walked out of them.

Sam stepped into the shower and sighed. The undulating flow of water on his back felt as good as he had been anticipating. It stung a little where the sand had abraded his skin, but overall the powerful spray was worth the price. Using a washcloth and a great deal of soap he scrubbed all the sand from his body. It took three times of scrubbing his head with shampoo to get rid of all the fine granules in his scalp and he wasn't positive he had gotten them all.

The hot water eased sore muscles and warmed him from the outside-in for the first time all day. Reluctantly, he turned the water off, toweled dry and dressed, his stiff joints protesting. Sam squirted a line of toothpaste and made quick work brushing his teeth. He frowned at the pink tint in the foamy paste and irrationally stopped dead in his tracks, listening for Dean as if his brother would pound on the door any second asking why Sam's gums were bleeding. He huffed at his own thoughts, rinsed out his toothbrush and stuffed it into his toiletry bag.

Sam opened the door and started to leave the bathroom, but changed his mind and turned back around to wipe steam off the mirror. He had been avoiding his reflection. If he looked half as bad as he felt then it was no wonder Dean was being so accommodating. The face that stared back at him was pale with dark circles under his eyes. From the drooping eyelids to the soft wrinkles of pain in his forehead everything spoke of illness and weariness. In short, he looked like crap. It explained why Dean was treating him like he'd fall down if the wind blew too hard.

"You done admiring yourself, Samantha?" Dean asked from the doorway, clearly visible reflected in the mirror.

Sam smiled and turned around. "Don't be a jerk." The demand lost some of its insistence with the delivery.

"I'll stop being a jerk when you stop…" Dean sputtered to a stop when Sam punched him on the arm on his way past to keep Dean from finishing his come-back. Sam bypassed his bed and headed for the computer. "Sam?"

"What?" Sam asked, genuinely perplexed at Dean's disapproving tone. He wracked his brain trying to think what Dean might be upset about when Sam remembered he'd left his clothes kicked under the sink. "I'll pick up my clothes when you're done." He sat down at the table and opened the laptop.

Sam glanced over at Dean who was standing in the doorway gaping at him as if he'd suddenly grown a second head. "I don't care about your dirty underwear, Sam. I wasn't done talking." Dean's eyes narrowed. "Get some sleep, no research." Dean didn't wait for a response from Sam. He shut the bathroom door and Sam could hear the water running almost immediately.

"Whatever, Dean," he muttered to himself. "We can't afford to slow down right now." It didn't take long to power up the laptop and even less time for Sam to immerse himself in the legend of the civatateo.

He was hip deep in Aztec mythology when Dean opened the bathroom door, steam billowing around him and into the room. "I thought I told you to get some sleep." His green eyes flashed in accusation.

"You did," Sam agreed. His fingers danced over the keyboard as he entered 'Nahuatl' into the search engine. "But seeing as how you're not Dad, I didn't feel I had to listen." He looked up and watched as concern flipped to annoyance and back again. "We have a lot of work to do, Dean."

"For how long?" Dean asked. He picked up his shoes and took a seat across the table from Sam.

"How long what?" Sam didn't look up from the computer, but quickly scanned the text, searching for the words she had first shouted at Dean.

The laptop closed on his fingers and Sam looked up. "How long can you keep it up if you don't get some rest?" Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Dean interrupted him. "You were already sick, Sam, and whatever she did, she didn't make things better, that's for damn sure. If you don't take care of yourself it'll only get worse."

"I may not have enough time to figure this out if I do stop," Sam replied, his voice soft. "Three days, Dean, that's not a lot of time to sift through centuries of mythology."

Dean averted his eyes and took a deep breath before turning back to Sam. "We'll figure it out, Sam. We will. But I need to know right now that you aren't going to do anything stupid."

"I'd say you're more the one with the long history of hare-brained ideas than I am," Sam deflected. He tried to push the monitor screen back up, but Dean held it down firmly.

"Sam, promise," Dean insisted. His expression was open, unguarded and it left Sam defenseless against his brother.

Sam pulled his hands off the keyboard and the lid on the laptop clicked closed. "It makes sense," Sam said. His voice softened at the hurt look on Dean's face. "I'm the logical choice." Dean opened his mouth in protest and Sam cut him off. "It would save you."

"Me?" Dean asked, his tone incredulous. "How in the hell do you figure it saves me?"

Sam furrowed his brow. "You'd live." He fingered the white threads of a small hole in the knee of his jeans. "You wouldn't have to worry about saving me from turning into something evil or from having to kill me if you couldn't."

He didn't know what reaction he expected from Dean: anger or denial at his words maybe or a quiet insistence that it would never come to that. What he didn't expect was for Dean to lock down and quietly leave without so much as a backwards glance. Moments later the Impala engine roared to life and the headlights lit the room before Dean pulled out of the parking lot.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean popped in a cassette and cranked the volume intent on draining away some of his anger with Metallica. The beat thumped through his chest and into his blood chasing away the rush of emotions he'd experienced at Sam's words. They really shouldn't have surprised him, but they did. Dean knew it wasn't Sam's faith in God that had taken a beating in Providence as much as it was his faith in himself. He just hadn't been expecting to hear his little brother talk about sacrificing himself as the logical choice. It wasn't even an option.

Not that he wanted to sacrifice himself either. He needed to be here for his brother. Hell, he wanted to be here. He didn't have a death wish. He hadn't been lying when he told Sam he was tired. Some days he was so tired of all the sacrifice and all the fighting, but that didn't mean he wanted to die. He just wanted a break. Although, he'd long ago quit expecting the universe to grant him one.

Dean pulled into the town's one small café and killed the engine. He had been expecting it to be closed and he assumed he'd be picking up chips and deli case sandwiches from the local convenience store. The blue and red open sign in the window had drawn him like a moth to the flame. It had also drawn real moths, gnats and more of the biting flies he'd fought off in the heat of the day. He was beginning to miss the cooler climate of the Midwest where he and Sam seemed to spend the majority of their time.

The bell chimed merrily when he opened the door and Dean found himself the object of scrutiny. All conversation dropped to a standstill and all eyes turned in his direction. He rolled his eyes and continued to the counter. Small towns were annoyingly close-knit at times and yet it amazed him how often people looked the other way when someone they supposedly knew and cared about was in trouble. He'd never quite figured that one out.

Dean rested a hip on the edge of a counter stool and picked up the To-Go Menu to peruse. He knew he wanted a burger and fries, but he wanted something a little healthier for Sam, something that would keep if he couldn't get Sam to stop and eat.

"What'll you have, sonny?"

Dean nearly snorted at the words. He was almost twenty-eight and butting up close to thirty. He hadn't thought of himself as a kid for a long time. He looked over the top of the menu at a gray-haired woman with bifocals that dangled from a silver chain around her neck. If he had to guess, he'd place her at over sixty.

"Cheeseburger and fries for me and…" Dean quickly scanned the salads and nixed them all. "Ah, what do you have that would be okay if it sat out all night?"

"Do you have a microwave?" she asked, snapping her gum. The habit amused Dean and he was reminded of an old show he used to watch when he was younger. Of course, it had been old then too and he couldn't think of the name. That was going to drive him nuts.

He wracked his brain trying to remember if he'd seen a microwave in their room. "I think so," he said.

Belle, that was her honest to God name according to her name pin, smiled a tobacco-yellowed smile at him and cracked, "Didn't realize I was asking such a hard question."

"We're just passing through and I couldn't remember if I'd seen one in our room," Dean explained, uncharacteristically sharing more information than normal. "I'm looking for something a little blander. My brother's not exactly adventurous when it comes to food." It was not entirely untrue, but it wasn't the undiluted truth either.

"Oatmeal and fresh fruit?" Belle suggested. "That'd keep."

Dean sniggered. It was healthy, it would keep and he'd get the opportunity to tease Sam about eating old man food. It was perfect. "Sounds good. It's to-go."

"Kind of figured as much, unless you're keeping that brother of yours in your pocket," Belle quipped, ringing up his order on an antiquated cash register.

"Nah, I'm just happy to see you," Dean responded out of reflex tossing Belle a megawatt smile.

She slapped him on the arm with her ticket book. "Someone's gunning for an extra dessert." Belle placed the order on the ticket wheel and turned back to Dean. "Or a spanking. That'll be fourteen dollars and eighty-seven cents."

Dean handed her a twenty. "Add a coffee and keep the change, Belle," he instructed.

"Well, aren't you a sweet-heart," Belle cooed. She pocketed the change and grabbed a coffee carafe. After filling Dean's mug she set the pot down on the counter and asked, "Do you want a slice of pie? I've got a piece of apple left."

"I never turn down pie," Dean said with a smile. Belle returned his smile and walked away to get the pie. Dean took a sip of his coffee, rested his arms on the counter and nursed the warm cup in his hands. He couldn't help but overhear the conversation taking place over his left shoulder.

"I heard that Indian went and got himself killed at that Catholic Church," a coarse voice remarked.

"Damn fool claimed that some ancient vampire curse was killing his wife," another remarked. "He was talking about it down at the site about a week ago."

"He told me he'd tried stabbing her through the heart with an obsidian knife, thought it might do the trick," yet another man stated.

"His wife?" the first man asked.

"No, you damn fool! The vampire."

Dean shook his head when laughter erupted. If only the stupid idiots knew how close they were to the truth. His attention refocused on Belle when she slid the apple pie between his arms. "Your order will be up in about five minutes."

"No hurry," Dean lied amiably. He wanted to get back to Sam to tell him what he'd overheard. He picked up his fork and dug into the pie. She'd warmed it up for him. "Oh man, now that's the stuff."

Belle smiled and nodded. The bell chimed at the service counter and she turned towards the kitchen. "Doug, ya idiot, I said it was to-go!"

Doug shouted something back at Belle that Dean couldn't quite hear, but it precipitated a yelling match between the two of them. By the time all the shouting was over, Dean had finished his pie and coffee. Moments later Belle set a paper bag down in front of him. "Have a good night, kiddo."

"Thanks," Dean replied. He stood, grabbed the sack off the counter and spun on his heel.

"Don't be a stranger and bring that brother of yours in next time!" Belle shouted after him. Dean waved a good-bye and headed for the Impala.

A quick drive later Dean pulled back into the parking slip in front of their motel room. The lights were off and he did not see the blue-glow of his brother's laptop either. Maybe Sam had finally listened to him and gone to bed. That would be par for the course now that he had information to share.

Soft congested snores greeted his arrival so Dean avoided turning on any lights. He walked through the room based on memory and placed the to-go sack on the table. He continued on to the bathroom and flicked on the light knowing it probably wouldn't wake Sam.

His little brother was asleep on top of the bedspread, fully clothed, one hand still resting on the laptop that, according to the little blinking orange light, had gone into power save mode. Apparently Sam had decided to obey the letter of the law if not the spirit behind it. Dean shook his head and gently eased the laptop out from under Sam's hand. He was surprised when it didn't wake his brother. Sometimes Dean thought Sam had his computer lo-jacked.

"Sam?" Dean waited for a sign his brother had heard him, but Sam didn't stir. He sat next to Sam and placed a hand on his forehead. Sam had a fever, but then he might have had one before too. Dean wasn't sure because every time he asked or tried to check Sam grumbled about him being a mother hen and that was wrong on so many levels. The lighting was poor, but Dean could see the pallor on his little brother's face and the dark circles under his eyes. "You're not dying, Sam, you hear me?" the words came out of their own volition.

Dean held his breath waiting for a reaction from Sam. He hadn't meant to say anything, but now that he had, he felt better having said them aloud especially since it was clear Sam was fast asleep. "It's not the _logical _choice, it's not any choice. No one's dying here."

This time Sam did move. He mumbled something in his sleep and his fingers ghosted over the computer that was no longer there. Sam crinkled his brow, but didn't open his eyes. "Dean?" His quiet question contained the rough edges of sleep.

Dean stuffed down feelings of desperation and forced neutrality into his tone. "Yeah?" He shifted to get a better look at Sam.

"She called your car a farting beast." A smile teased the corners of Sam's mouth.

"That bitch," Dean replied, his tone light and teasing.

"Jerk," the automated reply came before the snoring began again. Dean puffed a laugh. Sam had never really woken up completely.

He stood, carried the computer to the table and hit the power button. Five different websites with information on the civatateo, Nahautl, and Aztec mythology popped onto the screen. Dean took a seat and scrolled through the information before he typed his own prompt into Google and waited for a response. "Son of bitch," Dean swore softly when it generated one hundred and eighty-six thousand possible hits.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

……………………………………………………………..**Supernatural**………………………………………………………

AN1: Thanks to Muffy for the help with the desert details and Charlie Girl for proof-reading.

AN2: So, for those of you who may have read Envy and recall a certain Supernatural moment I had of my own?...

Shelly, one of my Supernatural cohorts at work had one on Monday.

I was running late due to a VERY sick puppy that I had to take to the vet. I arrived at work a bit harried and didn't really notice anyone in particular on the way to my office. I had barely managed to sit down at my desk, my computer still warming up when Shelly appeared in the doorway.

I looked up and said, "Oh, my God, Shelly, what happened?"

She pointed to her scraped chin and road-rash cheek with her splinted finger. The look on her face was the most pathetic look I've ever seen on a grown woman. In a sad little voice she said, "I lost my shoe."

"No way, not you too!"

"Yep, taking out the garbage. My knees are all banged up too." At this statement her face hardened a bit and she grated out, "Whatever vortex you and Ann (the lady that saw me fall and had her own incident later) have going on here, keep it to yourself."

LOL – Although, I'm beginning to think she may be right about the vortex.

AN3: Sorry this chapter is so late. I had a few llamas running around in my head and it took awhile to corral them into behaving. Thank you for your patience.

And yes, to those of you keeping track (that's YOU, Charlie Girl) the one-shot, turned three-shot is now a who-knows-how-long-shot. But it IS all plotted out and ready to be written. :D

As always – thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Dean held his breath waiting for a reaction from Sam

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **I do have a lovely signed poster of the boys hanging up on the wall in my office, but alas, I STILL do not own Supernatural or…well….practically anything else.

**Beta'd: **By the incredibly talented Wysawyg who helped make this chapter so much better than it was!

_I played after she beta'd so as usual any and all remaining errors are mine!_

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

_Dean held his breath waiting for a reaction from Sam. He hadn't meant to say anything, but now that he had, he felt better having said them aloud especially since it was clear Sam was fast asleep. "It's not the logical choice, it's not any choice. No one's dying here."_

_This time Sam did move. He mumbled something in his sleep and his fingers ghosted over the computer that was no longer there. Sam crinkled his brow, but didn't open his eyes. "Dean?" His quiet question contained the rough edges of sleep._

_Dean stuffed down feelings of desperation and forced neutrality into his tone. "Yeah?" He shifted to get a better look at Sam. _

"_She called your car a farting beast." A smile teased the corners of Sam's mouth._

"_That bitch," Dean replied, his tone light and teasing._

"_Jerk," the automated reply came before the snoring began again. Dean puffed a laugh. Sam had never really woken up completely._

_He stood, carried the computer to the table and hit the power button. Five different websites with information on the civatateo, Nahautl, and Aztec mythology popped onto the screen. Dean took a seat and scrolled through the information before he typed his own prompt into Google and waited for a response. "Son of bitch," Dean swore softly when it generated one hundred and eighty-six thousand possible hits. This was going to be harder than he thought._

…….…………………………………………………….**Chapter Four**……………………………………………………….

_She sauntered towards him, her white gown fluttering around shapely legs. As she drew closer, he took in her face: beautifully sculpted cheek bones, bronze skin, almond-colored eyes and full lips. Thick, black hair hung loosely around her shoulders and down her back. She stroked his cheek and he melted into her touch. He wanted her like he'd wanted no other. _

"_Amini," she whispered delicately in his ear._

_He shivered at the rush of air from her lips warming his cold skin. He cupped her face with two large hands and pulled her in for a tender kiss. When she stepped away from him, his heart pounded hard against his chest wall. "Don't leave," he begged._

"_Camapaca camapotoniliztl, Amini," she said, her smile sliding from warm and inviting to a smirk and finally to a malicious snarl. "Macehualli." _

_Her form slowly turned to sand and it swirled about him in an angry furor before disappearing._

"_No!" he shouted as his heart fractured._

Dean sat bolt upright. In spite of the air conditioning that hummed through the vents, Dean was roasting. He'd kicked all his blankets off while sleeping and they lay in a heap on the floor next to the bed. He wiped sweat off his face with both hands, hands shaking from the aftermath of adrenaline and emotions swirling inside him. "Well that was just all kinds of wrong," he muttered.

He drew in a deep breath and tried to catch his bearings. He felt as if he had been standing out in the desert only moments ago. He could still smell the flowers and herbs she had used to wash and the silken texture of her lips was a feather-light memory on his mouth. As he controlled his breathing the raspy breathing coming from the other bed became the predominant sound in his ears.

Sam coughed several times and a wet mucous sound caught in his throat. He made choking noises and Dean was on his feet and padding over to Sam before he registered the movement. "Sammy, wake up," he instructed, one hand under Sam's neck helping him to a semi-inclined position.

Sam's eyes opened and he coughed and coughed again, each one growing more violent than the last. His eyes watered and a look of panic reflected in them. One hand desperately gripped Dean's t-shirt while the other rested palm-flat on the bed providing a grounding force for the coughing spasms. Every action shouted at Dean that his little brother couldn't breathe.

"Easy, Sam," he coached. "It'll be okay." But it wasn't okay and Dean knew it. The civatateo had cursed his baby brother and he was slowly dying before Dean's eyes. Abruptly, Sam jumped from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Dean paused for only a moment to flick on the light and followed close on Sam's heels. He stopped short of the doorway to give Sam some personal space while he spat into the toilet.

"I'm okay," a quiet, husky reassurance came from the dark bathroom. Running water preceded Sam's appearance in the doorframe. Droplets clung to strands of chestnut hair and dripped onto his t-shirt. He nodded a reply to Dean's unspoken question and walked slowly back to bed.

Dean sat down on his bed and leaned across the open space between them resting his arms on his legs. Sam pulled the blankets up and over his tall frame stopping at his chin. He panted shallowly and already his eyes blinked sleepily, but he maintained eye contact with Dean.

"A farting beast?" Dean asked. It wasn't what he wanted to ask. He wanted to know if Sam had found anything that would stop the curse, if he was really okay, if he was still afraid of the thing in his closet because right now, Dean was pretty sure he was.

Sam's lips curled in a smile. "So, I uh, talked in my sleep?"

"Oh yeah, spouting off crap about rainbows and unicorns before you drooled all over the computer," Dean teased. He had to sit back quickly to avoid the hurricane that was Sammy. "Sam, what the hell?" Blankets dropped to the floor by Dean's ankles as Sam stumbled past him.

"Where is it?" Sam asked. Hazel eyes flicked around the room; he spotted it on the table and rushed over to it. Sam opened it and hit the powered button before Dean had a chance to reply. Sam's face grayed and he swayed slightly as his recent flight across the room caught up with him.

"Sam, sit down before you fall down," Dean commanded with a mental eye roll. Sometimes for being such a smart guy his little brother was a bit forgetful of the most basic things: eating, sleeping or not fainting like a girl in front of his big brother.

Sam's eye roll didn't go unnoticed by Dean, but Sam dutifully sat down and nursed his head momentarily before looking at Dean. "Did you move it?"

"I think that's a given," Dean stated. "What's the matter, anyway?" He absently rubbed at the spot over his hip where he'd been impaled by the cactus spike.

"That bothering you?" Sam asked, changing the topic. He nodded towards the motion Dean made with his hand. "You did clean it and rub on antibacterial cream, didn't you?"

"Are you kidding me with this?" Dean asked, his mouth agape. "You're not seriously worried about a little jab by a cactus needle are you?"

"Dean, many cactus spikes are covered in bacteria that can lead to serious infections in an anaerobic puncture wound environment," Sam explained in his best, patient teaching tone. "I just think all things considered, it doesn't hurt to play it safe."

"I'll do it later," Dean conceded. He shifted uncomfortably under Sam's intense scrutiny. "I promise," he added at Sam's raised eyebrow response. "If you tell me what has you so freaked."

"I'm not freaked," Sam said in an offended tone, the weight of which was countered by the huge yawn that split Sam's face in two. "It just took me forever to find the translation site and I don't remember if I saved it to my favorites or not."

"You didn't," Dean replied. "I bookmarked it though and the other four sites you had up. You had some kind of document going too which is now saved as 'Sam Winchester Wears Women's Underpants.'" He tossed Sam a lop-sided grin.

"You're a riot," Sam croaked, his eyes scanning the text on his screen. "I had a hell of a time trying to translate from Nahautl to English."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Why are you even trying? We could talk to Maria."

"Because we don't really know what the civatateo said," Sam explained. "Because I'm trying to remember exactly how she said it and there are like a hundred different words that sound almost the same. And maybe because I don't want to put Maria through any more trauma than we have to," Sam yawned.

After another yawn, Sam stood and walked back to the bed. He flopped gracelessly onto the mattress and pulled the blankets high, shivering so hard the blankets trembled. He yawned a final time and rubbed at his eyes, then blinked hard as if trying to clear them.

Dean's lips twitched in amusement. "You know, you look five years old when you do that," he remarked affectionately. He twisted to snag the extra pillow from his bed and tossed it at Sam. "Here."

"What?" Sam scrunched his forehead. He picked up the pillow and prepared to throw it back to Dean.

"Keep it," Dean said, one arm half-raised to defend himself. "You should sleep sitting up a little bit. It might keep you from choking on your own snot."

"Nice, but I'm not going back to sleep," Sam protested. "I'm just trying to get warm, but we should start working now before it gets too hot."

"Sam, it's like four in the morning." Dean stood and walked a few feet away from his brother before spinning around again to face him. "And I don't know about you, but I'm tired."

This time, Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You do realize it isn't my first day as your little brother, right?" He wore the smug expression he usually sported after using Dean's own words against him.

"Okay, how about 'I'm not going anywhere until you've slept at least six hours?' Are you telling me you were in bed by ten o'clock?" Dean sat back down on his bed and dared his brother to lie to him with a single look.

"You know I didn't," Sam replied crossly, stacking the pillows behind him and leaning back. "You left here after ten."

"Huh, that's right," Dean said. He noticed with some satisfaction that while Sam intended to protest, he stayed in bed. Sam glared at him defiantly despite the drooping eyelids. "Are you hungry?"

"Not really." Sam yawned again and this time he did close his eyes. "I think maybe I will sleep a little longer."

"Good idea," Dean agreed. He stretched to reach the light between them and flicked it off. "We both will."

"Mm-hmm…'kay," Sam replied, sleepily.

Dean laid back and crossed his arms behind his head. Just a couple more hours of sleep and they'd finish this thing. Sam wasn't dying, not on his watch.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam stretched to relieve the crick in his back and neck. He froze when a painful muscle spasm tightened around his chest and sucked the air from his lungs. He slowly counted to ten and released a fraction of tension with each number. It helped – marginally. Sam opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. Daylight streamed through the window and lit the room. It wasn't the soft yellow rays of the morning sun, but the white hot light of noonday or later. He focused in on the dust motes dancing merrily in the current from the quiet hum of the air conditioner and it nearly lulled him back to sleep.

Sam's eyes flicked to the clock and he groaned. Dean had let him sleep until one in the afternoon. It took supreme effort and an enormous amount of motivation he wasn't aware he even possessed to crawl out of bed when all he really wanted to do was close his eyes and go back to sleep. He sat on the bed, swaying slightly and stared at the bathroom door willing it to defy the laws of physics and move closer to him.

The obstinately stationary door didn't budge, so Sam pushed himself off the bed and walked on stiff legs to the bathroom. The idea of a warm shower propelled him faster than the call of his full bladder and he turned the taps on high to heat up. He rested a hip on the edge of the sink and undressed. Delicate grains of sand tinkled against the linoleum floor and he shook his head. It just kept coming back as if it was slowly making its way out of his skin.

He stepped into the shower and sighed as the water warmed his skin. The massaging spray on his tight back muscles soothed the ache and he contemplated the possibility of staying in the shower all day. All too soon he heard the motel room door open and shut followed by his brother's recognizable gait across the stone floor. "Sam, you in there?" Dean called from the other side of the bathroom door.

"No," Sam replied, shocked at how tired his voice sounded. "I figured out how to turn myself invisible and I'm standing behind you."

"Good," Dean replied, refusing to take the bait. "Because I have lunch and a lead."

"Be right out." Reluctantly, Sam turned off the water and toweled dry. He retrieved his clothes from the floor, ignoring the persistent twinges of pain in his back and shook out more sand. He gave them the obligatory sniff test, but they were clean enough to wear; he'd only put them on to go to bed. He shrugged on his t-shirt and bent down to pick up his sweats.

The change in altitude caused a wave of dizziness and a sudden and severe attack of nausea. He braced himself on the sink and breathed slowly and deeply through his nose until the sensation passed. His hands grew slick on the basin and he wiped the sweat of on his shirt. Sam hastily slipped into his sweats and opened the bathroom door.

Dean stood directly in front of him, looking over his shoulder at something on the television, his fist raised to knock on the door. "Watch out!" Sam shouted, knocking Dean's hand away from his face.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean apologized, sheepishly. "I was a little distracted."

Sam nodded and noted with some relief that his head didn't pop off his neck as he'd feared it would. He squinted and peered in the direction of the television. "Are you watching a soap opera?"

Dean scowled, but turned quickly to turn off the television. "No," he denied in a guilty voice.

Sam mustered up the energy for a half a snort through congested nasal passages, walked the short distance to the laptop and sat down on the hardback chair with a grunt. "Sure, I believe you. Countless others wouldn't, but I do."

"Hey, it's not like there's a ton of options out here in the middle of B.F.E. with only three stations on daytime TV," Dean protested. He took the seat opposite Sam and began pulling containers out of a brown paper sack. "I picked up some real food and even some of the rabbit greens you seem to like."

He looked up at Sam and the grin dropped off his face. Dean's hazel reflected concern and a pinched, worried look accentuated the crinkles around his eyes. "What's the matter?" Sam asked.

"Sam," Dean's voice sounded strangled. "Your nose is bleeding."

Sam ran a hand under his nose and a line of crimson stained the back of it. He stared, mesmerized by the sparkling granules of fine sand drifting down the slope of his hand. He startled when a tissue waved in front of his face. He hadn't even noticed Dean standing up to get it. "Thanks."

He could feel Dean's eyes boring into him, but he ignored his brother and powered up the laptop. "I think she asked if I was your brother," Sam said, continuing as if nothing had happened. "Did she say anything else to you?" Dean continued to stare at him and did not answer. "Dude, what?"

"Nothing." Dean made a show of dishing out steaming food onto paper plates and set one down in front of Sam. "I'll answer your questions, you eat."

"I'm not hungry," Sam said. He dismissed Dean with a small head shake. He didn't feel hungry and he needed to finish the translations while it was still fresh in his memory. Many of the Nahautl words were similar in sound and meaning as it was without time erasing the clarity of recall. He could feel a headache teasing behind his eyes and he rubbed one temple with the fingers on his left hand.

Dean added a salad to the spread in front of Sam. "Amini."

"What?" Sam looked up from the computer at his brother.

"She said, 'Amini,'" Dean repeated. He lifted a fork full of mashed potatoes and gestured to Sam's plate with it. He shoved the bite into his mouth and made a show of exaggerated chewing until Sam picked up his fork. He swallowed hard. "And something like macaroni."

Sam had to swallow fast to avoid spewing food when he puffed a laugh. "Macaroni?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, poking at his chicken with his fork. "It sounded like Macaroni."

"Okay, let's start with amini." Sam rolled his eyes when Dean pointed to his plate again, but he took another bite.

"So, uh, while I was at the diner picking up food last night I overheard some guys talking about Pedro." Sam paused to look at Dean and Dean motioned for him to continue eating. "One of them said Pedro tried stabbing the civatateo in the heart with an obsidian knife."

"A sacrifice?" Sam's curiosity piqued. "That's interesting." Sam stopped eating and pointed at Dean with his fork. "Did you know that some scholars believe that human sacrifice by the Aztecs is a myth perpetrated by Cortes to justify his invasion of Tenochtitlan?"

Dean made a noise of irritation. "Probably the same idiots that say wendigos, vampires and werewolves aren't real."

Sam puffed a small laugh "Probably." He stifled a cough and it came out as a muffled gagging sound. He glanced at Dean and knew he wasn't fooling his brother. "Anyway, most scholars maintain they have historical proof through the accounts of Mayans, hieroglyphics and Aztec converts to Christianity. If Pedro tried it on the civatateo, he must have believed in the sacrifices."

"Yeah, well, it obviously didn't work," Dean shot back, ignoring Sam's foray into anthropology 101. "I think he tried it at the church where he thought he was safest and she not only didn't die, she got angry and killed him outright."

Sam shook his head. "I read the coroner's report," he contradicted. "Pedro definitely killed himself. The angle is right, the force of impact." Sam's mind whirled through the facts he'd read last night. "Although, he could have tried to kill her first and when it didn't work…"

"He used the knife to kill himself," Dean finished. He fished the forgotten water bottles out of the sack and handed one to Sam.

"Yeah, thanks." Sam twisted the cap off his water bottle and sucked down half of it in one breath. "Dean, we need that knife."

"And the police have it in evidence lock up," Dean supplied.

Sam nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard to get it, should it?" The headache behind his eyes tickled his nose. He could feel the sneeze building.

"Not if they're holding it at the local sheriff's office," Dean said. He gave Sam an appraising look. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I, I…" unable to hold back the sneeze any longer, Sam let it go, "aatchoo!" This time he didn't need Dean to tell him his nose was bleeding, he felt the warm ribbon of blood streaming down his face, over his lips and past his chin. He cupped his hand under his face to catch what he could.

Vaguely he heard the sound of Dean's chair scraping against the stone floor and running footsteps before Dean firmly pinched Sam's nose with a tissue. He instinctively pulled away from the pressure on his face and Dean placed a hand on the back of his head and pushed it forward slightly. "The last thing you need is an upset stomach from swallowing blood," Dean rumbled from above. "You'd probably puke up a kidney." It was said in jest, but Dean's words sounded strained not teasing.

Sam nodded and closed his eyes. The cords in his neck tightened from the awkward position and he moaned nearly inaudibly. "Just relax and breathe through your mouth," Dean instructed. A cool hand on his forehead helped take the strain off his neck and shoulders.

It felt as if an hour passed while Dean stood behind him, holding his head and pinching his nose. When Dean finally stepped back a step and released his grip on him, Sam groaned. "That sucked." He opened his eyes and looked over at his brother. He stared, horrified by the blood on Dean's hands. Dean followed Sam's gaze and turned abruptly to wash his hands in the bathroom.

Sam pressed his hands on the table to help lever himself to a standing position. "Just sit tight, Sam," Dean commanded without turning in his direction. Sam sat back down and huffed. He'd never figure out how Dean did that.

Dean returned with another tissue and a wet washcloth. "Thanks," Sam said, gratefully. He wiped his face with the warm rag and washed the blood off his hands. "We should go." He tossed the washcloth onto the table and started powering off his computer.

Dean crouched down next to him and placed a hand on Sam's arm to get his attention. "You lie down and get more sleep. I'll be back in a couple of hours." Sam looked up at Dean and saw the fear before Dean pushed it to the background.

"Dean," Sam replied, quietly. "Getting more sleep isn't going to keep me alive any longer." He hesitated at the look of devastation that briefly crossed his brother's face. "The only thing that will is figuring out a way to stop the curse."

"We know how to stop the curse, Sam," Dean snapped, his voice rough with emotion.

"It won't come to that," Sam insisted. "And if it does, Dean, you have to promise you'll let me go."

"I already made the mistake of promising that once, Sammy," Dean said, his eyes taking on the ferocity of his conviction. "I won't make that mistake again."

Sam swallowed hard. "Then we need to stop figure this out before it comes to that, because I'm not going to make that mistake either."

Dean's eyes hardened in opposition, but Sam didn't back down, his own expression matching Dean's. Finally, Dean dropped his gaze and stood, offering Sam a hand up. "Then let's get busy and take care of the bitch."

Sam nodded in acceptance and grasped Dean's hand allowing Dean to pull him to his feet. "Let's go."

TBC

………………………………………..……………….**Supernatural**……..…………………………………………….

Thanks for reading!

AN: Sorry for the delay folks! It's PDR time at work and it is absorbing most of my time and nearly all of my will to live. :)

Muffy, I used your response to Sam's anthro lesson for Dean (it sounded just like him). Hope you don't mind. BG.

AN2: My humblest apologies for anyone reading _Dead Men Tell No Tales_. I swear I was working on chapter six, but I closed down my laptop when the finale started. Unfortunately, the scene I was working on was right in the middle of Sam's headspace regarding the Deal and I couldn't bear to work on it this week.

I was properly poked by someone regarding that story today, so I'm back on it. :)

Thanks for your patience.


	5. Chapter 5

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **They are mine. Kripke only borrows them for his own nefarious deeds. Wait…scratch that. Reverse.

**Beta'd: **By the talented Muffy Morrigan. She graciously agreed to beta when Wysawyg experienced technical difficulties with her laptop (or maybe it was the whining that convinced her. Not sure). Thank you!

_Special thanks for helping me get the desert scenes all…deserty. BG._

_I had homework after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are mine and mine alone._

**Dedicated: **To Carocali and Nana56 for being supportive and kind, back when the world of fanfic was a scary, scary place and for sticking by me!

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

"_We know how to stop the curse, Sam," Dean snapped, his voice rough with emotion. _

"_It won't come to that," Sam insisted. "And if it does, Dean, you have to promise you'll let me go."_

"_I already made the mistake of promising that once, Sammy," Dean said, his eyes taking on the ferocity of his conviction. "I won't make that mistake again."_

_Sam swallowed hard. "Then we need to stop figure this out before it comes to that, because I'm not going to make that mistake either."_

_Dean's eyes hardened in opposition, but Sam didn't back down, his own expression matching Dean's. Finally, Dean dropped his gaze and stood, offering Sam a hand up. "Then let's get busy and take care of the bitch."_

_Sam nodded in acceptance and grasped Dean's hand allowing Dean to pull him to his feet. "Let's go."_

…..………..……………………………………………**Chapter Five**………………………………………………………..

Dean sauntered into the sheriff's office, his eyes raking the comparatively dim interior. One deputy sat at his desk in the back by the city's two jail cells. He'd seen the sheriff outside talking to one of the locals, and the steaming cup of coffee on the second desk meant he hadn't been gone long. It had taken some strong-arm techniques, but he had convinced Sam to remain at the diner while he procured what they needed from the sheriff's office.

"I'd like to turn in money I found on the street," Dean informed the deputy. He tried not to sound bitter, but he hated this plan, even if it had been his own. He had worked hard for this money. However, cops in small towns ate up the Good Samaritan act and it seemed like the best option.

"Thank you for being honest," Deputy Chad said. He swiveled in his chair and pulled a form out of the four-drawer, dusty filing cabinet. It was well-worn and dented on one side, but it did have a lock.

Dean rolled his eyes at the deputy's back. Apparently computers hadn't made it to Lordsburg. "My grandmother lives on a fixed income. If she lost this much money, I'd want someone to turn it in."

Deputy Chad spun back around to face Dean and nodded. "That's true enough. Most folks that live here feel the same way, but you're not from around here. Passing through?"

It was said casually, but a familiar fire of resentment burned in the pit of Dean's stomach. "Not exactly. I'm helping Father Rodriguez on a church project."

"Ah, missionary." The deputy tapped his pen on the desk. "That certainly explains the town gossip."

Dean schooled his features before plastering on a charming smile. "Gossip?"

Deputy Chad laughed. "Yeah, don't let it bother you. It's a small town. The only thing faster than the speed of light around here is the scuttlebutt."

"That's usually the way with these close communities," Dean agreed with words he didn't believe. He pulled the fifty dollar bill he'd slated for this con out of his jeans pocket. "I found it in the diner parking lot."

"Hard to believe anyone who eats at Charlie's had fifty dollars on them," the deputy said. "Must have been someone passing through or a local's grocery money or something. If no one comes to claim it in a week and you're still here, it's yours."

"The church would be happy to accept the donation," Dean said. He almost felt bad for lying about the money, almost, but not quite. He glanced around the room looking for another place the knife could be stored, but the filing cabinet behind the deputy and the one behind the sheriff's desk were the only two obvious places in the small jail.

"I'll be sure notify Father Rodriguez if it is unclaimed," the deputy said. Dean cringed as he watched fifty hard earned dollars he'd won playing darts last week fly away. "Name?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, when voices at the door drew Dean's and the deputy's attention to the entrance. "Son, are you okay?"

A mumbled response, the tenor of the voice coming through the door was unmistakable to Dean's ears. He turned his attention to Deputy Chad. "Do you think we should check on what's going on out there?"

"I think Sheriff Brady can handle it." Deputy Chad tapped the paper with his pen. "Where were we? Oh yeah, can I get your name?"

"Travis, a little help out here!" Deputy Chad pushed his chair back and rushed past Dean.

Dean resisted the urge to follow on the heels of the deputy. Sam had wanted to cause a diversion to give him time to search the office. Dean had nixed the idea. He wanted Sam to stay out of the line of fire. He had played the 'I'm the big brother and I'm the boss' card and Sam had reluctantly agreed to sit it out. He should have known his little brother wouldn't listen.

The lock on the file cabinet clicked obediently open, and Dean searched the four drawers. Two drawers had files the oldest of which dated back to 1953. One drawer held forms. The last drawer looked like items the police had confiscated from area teenagers. He relocked the cabinet and moved to the sheriff's files.

The first drawer simply contained more case files, but the second drawer in the sheriff's cabinet yielded the prize he'd been searching for. He carefully slipped the plastic bag containing the gold handled knife into his waistband. He pushed the knob to lock the cabinet and went to rescue his brother from the two law enforcement officers.

Dean opened the door and the scent of hot asphalt buffeted him. He looked around, expecting to see Sam talking to the police. He was surprised to see Sam sitting hunched on the ground, cradling his head with Deputy Chad standing over him with an umbrella and a bottle of water.

Dean crouched low, ignoring the questioning looks he received from both police officers, and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam?"

"I'm okay." Sam's voice was thick and raspy. It sounded much like it had after the lamp cord had wound tight around his throat a year ago.

"You know this guy?" Sheriff Brady gazed at Dean appraisingly. Dean recognized the look. The sheriff was sizing him up, judging his worth, estimating his strengths, and gauging his weaknesses. Dean did the same thing with every possible opponent he met, which included just about everyone the brothers came across. He respected the sheriff instantly.

"My kid brother," Dean said, keeping his tone light. He stood, keeping his fingertips on Sam's shoulder and leaned closer to the sheriff. "Dad asked me to bring him along. He thought it was time for Sam to get out of the classroom and back into the real world. I said I'd watch out for him."

There was enough truth in Dean's statement for it to resonate with the sheriff. "You need to get him out of the heat," Brady said gruffly. "He's looking sick." The gray-haired, barrel-chested sheriff rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Son, the desert is a beautiful woman. Admire her, respect her and she'll treat you right. Turn your back on her and she'll cut you down so fast you won't know what hit you."

"Yes sir." Dean nodded. "Understood." He knelt down and hooked his arm under Sam's. "Ready, Sam?" The rosy red blush on Sam's neck stood out in stark contrast to his pallor. Whether it was embarrassment or sunburn, Dean didn't know.

"Yeah." Sam dropped his hands and made eye contact with Dean.

"Sammy," Dean breathed. His little brother looked impossibly worse in the light of day.

"I'm good, Dean," Sam reassured him. "Let's just go."

Dean hesitated, waiting to see if Sam was steady on his feet before pulling away. "I thought we agreed you'd wait in the diner," Dean admonished under his breath. He could practically _hear _Sam's eye roll.

"Sorry," Sam apologized. His tone contained just enough edge to let Dean know he would be getting an earful once they were safely ensconced in the Impala.

"Boys!" Brady called. The brothers twisted in unison to face the sheriff. Sheriff Brady tossed the water bottle Deputy Chad had been holding to Dean who caught it expertly in one hand. "Make sure he drinks it all."

Dean saluted the sheriff with the bottle and resumed walking to the car. After they were out of earshot of the officers, he addressed his wayward brother. "What did you think you were doing, Sam?"

"I thought I had your back," Sam replied calmly. "The sheriff was headed inside and I didn't want you to get caught snooping around. You did get it, didn't you?"

"Dude, that's not the point. I had it covered." Dean used the hem of his shirt to open the door handle to the Impala. He'd learned the hard way how hot the metal would be. He addressed Sam across the roof of the car. "And of course I got it." Dean waited until Sam sat down to join him in the car. He immediately started driving to force air into the stifling interior.

The cool obsidian dagger rested in his waistband. He reached back and carefully removed it, holding it out for Sam. "It's heavier than I thought it would be."

Sam took the knife out of the bag and slowly turned it in his hand, examining the glyphs. "I think the handle is solid gold. But it almost looks like a hunter's or warrior's knife."

"Not a priest's?" That surprised him. He assumed it was a sacrificial dagger, not a weapon.

"I'm not sure." Sam paused for a moment to examine the knife, turning the blade over and over in his hand. He flipped it front to back and side to side several times. "You know, the gold handle makes me think priest and the blade is definitely thick enough and sharp enough for a sacrificial knife, but the balance, the heft…it just feels more like a combat dagger."

Sam leaned closer to Dean and held the dagger up so he could see. "See that symbol right there?" He tapped the symbol on the right near the end of the hilt. "I think that's the symbol for the jaguar. The jaguar was the highest ranking warrior or hunter in the Aztec social system."

The metallic scented wind whistling through the windows was the only sound in the car as Sam continued to turn the knife slowly, examining it. "What?" Dean asked, knowing Sam had stopped talking because he was piecing facts together.

"Amini," Sam said, shifting back to his own side. "I found the translation while I was waiting for you."

"For all of five minutes," Dean interjected. He glanced over to Sam and frowned. He didn't like what he saw. Sam was deteriorating before his eyes.

Sam sighed heavily at the repeated lecture, but continued unabated. "It means hunter. Dean, she knows you're a hunter."

"Do you think that's why she attacked?" Dean asked.

Sam pursed his lips as he considered the idea. "Maybe. That might explain Pedro as well. This is his knife."

Dean preferred guns, but he could appreciate a fine blade. He had a favorite knife that fit his hand with a comfortable heft, a favorite machete with a large outward curve at the end, even a favorite penknife that he kept in his jeans pocket. Sam, however, seemed entranced by the gold-handled obsidian dagger in his hand.

"You want me to take you back to the motel?" Dean asked, shooting Sam a grin. Sam reciprocated with a death glare and Dean nodded to the dagger. "I mean, if you'd like some time alone with her, I'd understand."

"You're a riot," Sam grumbled. "Actually, I was thinking it might be time to talk to Maria."

"Now you're talkin', Sammy." Dean wanted to bundle Sam off to bed like he did when Sam was little. The only real problem with that plan was he needed Sam at Maria's. Well, that and Sam would put up one hell of a fight, and forcing Sam to do anything now was a great deal more difficult than it had been when he could bribe him with gummy worms and bedtime stories.

Dean flicked the radio on, but kept the volume down lower than normal. He needed some music to think. 'You Shook Me All Night Long' was half over when he waggled an index finger in Sam's direction. "Something about this isn't adding up."

"What do you mean?" Sam didn't look up from the dagger. He ran a finger along the glyphs as if he was trying to absorb the meaning of the symbols through his skin. Sam's sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. He pushed it away with one hand, causing it to poke out in all directions. The wind blowing through the open window didn't help tame the wild locks.

"I don't think Pedro surrendered without a fight." Dean tapped the steering wheel.

"Dean I read the coroner's report," Sam said, looking up from the glyphs. "Pedro held the knife like this." Sam held the point of the dagger to his chest directly at the solar plexus. "And he thrust it upwards…" He stopped talking and threw Dean a shocked look when the dagger was ripped from his hand.

"Don't ever do that, Sam," Dean said harshly. He fixed a hard stare at his little brother and pulled to the side of the road. He threw the car into Park and twisted in his seat to face a wide-eyed Sam. The civatateo had invaded his dreams, there was no telling what kind of affect she was having on Sam. "Just don't, okay?"

"I wasn't going to do anything," Sam said softly. "I was just showing how Pedro…"

"I don't care what you were doing," Dean said dismissively, shaking his head. Sam's death hung closely around him. It skittered in the corner of Dean's vision and mocked him from the dark corners of his mind. "I believe you when you say Pedro killed himself. I don't doubt your research." He held up his hand when Sam opened his mouth. "Let me finish. You're not dying, Sam, I'm not gonna let that happen, but I certainly don't want to watch you re-enact Pedro's death either."

"Okay." Sam's soft voice alerted Dean that his brother was still a little unsure of Dean's mental state. He smiled, trying to reassure Sam that he was fine, but the lines of worry on Sam's face suggested he had missed.

Dean nodded and pulled the Impala back onto the road. "Pedro may have sacrificed himself, but that's not what he went to the church intending to do. He went to kill the civatateo."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam sat in silence and considered Dean's statement. "You're sure?"

"If that's the knife Pedro chose to hunt this thing, then yeah, I'm sure." Dean plucked the plastic bag from the seat and shook it in front of Sam. "Put it away, Sam, and drink the water the sheriff gave you."

He tossed Dean a withering glance. "You know I was only acting to cause a diversion, right?"

"You know it only worked because you look like shit, don't you?" Dean countered. "Drink the water, Sam."

Sam huffed in protest, but stowed the knife, and picked up the water bottle regardless. The cool water soothed his throat, dry from breathing through his mouth rather than congested nasal passages. "It's up here on the right," Sam said, pointing to the gravel road with the water bottle.

"Let's say Pedro went to kill her," Dean theorized. "He thought the hallowed ground would offer some protection."

"But it didn't," Sam added. "The civatateo have all the powers of an Aztec priest and are endowed with supernatural abilities."

"So, our civatateo tried seducing him again, leading him astray," Dean continued. Sam noticed the odd catch in Dean's rhythm.

"But he broke away and pulled out the dagger." Sam grunted when the Impala hit a deep pothole.

"She got angry, swirled into sand." Dean slowed down as they drew closer to the Gomez's house.

"He thought he didn't have any more options left." Sam visualized Pedro's movements through his final moments. "He was desperate to save the woman he loved and he pursued the only option he thought he had left. He chose an honorable warrior's death protecting his family."

Sam's mind zipped back to the present and he wished he'd left his last few words unspoken. He hadn't been thinking about their situation, his mind completely wrapped up in the mystery of the civatateo. He could see Dean's wheels turning and wanted to kick himself. It was hard enough to curb Dean's natural tendency towards rushing in where angels feared to tread without pointing him in the right direction and shoving him down the path.

"Dean, I…"

"We're here," Dean announced, an unreadable expression on his face. He stopped the car and without the moving air of the open windows, the Impala immediately started to heat up. The heat rolled off the desert sand in waves, distorting the cacti on the horizon.

Dean's stomach rumbled and he pressed the palm of his hand on it. "How can you be hungry already?" Sam asked. Lunch rested heavy in his stomach. It felt like a lead weight had settled in it.

"Hey, I'm a growing boy," Dean quipped, opening his door. Sweat lined Dean's shirt and stuck to his back. He tugged on the hem to shed the sticky, second cotton skin.

"Amazing how short you are then, considering," Sam shot back. He snagged the dagger and peeled himself out of the car, his muscles quivering with the effort. What strength he had seemed to be absorbed by the intense heat. He couldn't hide how bad he truly felt from Dean much longer. Deflection only worked so well for so long.

"Funny." Dean glanced in Sam's direction before headed up to the door.

The landscape surrounding Maria's house was a texture mat of greens, browns and pinks. Sharp needled prickly pear dotted with green and red mottled fruit, the spear shaped leaves of the yucca and the delicate, feathery tentacles of an ocotillo with rosy blooms dotted the area.

Sam trudged behind his brother, his boots scraping the crusty pink-orange sand. His toe caught on a rock and he stumbled. A small, bright red snake with beady, black eyes and a vibrant yellow belly slithered away from its disturbed home, hurrying to the next shady spot and disappearing into the shadows. Sam regained his footing and joined Dean at the door.

Dean knocked soundly on the door and running feet could be heard in the house. The door cracked open and small brown-haired head poked out. "¡Roberto, cierra la puerta!"

"Pero, mamá, hay personas a la puerta," Roberto said, twisting back to look inside the house.

Maria appeared at the door moments later, her hair in disarray, her face flushed. She opened the door wide when she recognized the brothers. "Sam, Dean, come in."

"Thank you, Maria," Sam said, leaning casually on the doorjamb to keep from falling over. Dean squeezed past him and tapped Sam on the arm as he entered the house.

Sam followed his brother into Maria's home and took note of the food on the table. Bowls of steaming rice, red beans and glistening vegetables were surrounded by three place settings. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to interrupt your dinner," Sam apologized.

"Think nothing of it," Maria assured him. "Have a seat. There's plenty of food."

"We don't want to impose," Sam said. "We had a few questions about the civatateo and Aztec culture, but it can wait until you're finished."

"Sit, eat," Maria said, gesturing to the table. "Please accept my invitation."

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean interjected, grabbing Sam's elbow and steering him towards the table. "Don't be rude. She invited us to eat and I'm starving."

Sam didn't resist the gentle shove Dean used to push him into a chair. It would have been useless anyway, and it would have given away how weak he felt. "Thank you, Maria."

"Yeah, thanks," Dean agreed, flashing Maria a brilliant smile. "It smells unbelievable." He took a deep breath and sighed appreciatively.

Sam puffed a small laugh. Dean could be single-mindedly determined at times, even when it came to something as simple as dinner. Dean always claimed Sam was the obsessed one who forgot to take care of himself, but his big brother was no slouch in that arena. Sam made eye contact Dean and noticed the dark circles under Dean's eyes. _Are you sick too, Dean or just worn down taking care of me?_

He narrowed his eyes and gazed at Dean appraisingly while he chatted with Maria and her daughter. Dean oozed the normal amount of charm, smiling and nodding appropriately as Carmelita talked. He heaped a healthy mound of rice, beans, vegetables and tortillas onto his plate. Sam gulped hard, swallowing back a gag at the thought of food. He had to eat something, but the thought of food wasn't appealing.

Dean's hand waving in front of his face brought Sam's focus back to the conversation. "Looks like Sam's in there after all, Carmelita. Guess you're right." The little girl laughed bashfully and tossed her pigtails back over her shoulders.

"He's just thinking too hard," Carmelita explained. "Like my papa does - did."

"What did he think about so hard?" Dean asked innocently, although the question was anything but.

"He thought about lots of things," Carmelita said using her fingers to tick them off. "Mama, us kids, the house," Carmelita leaned closer and spoke in a hushed whisper. "Mama's sickness."

"Did he ever talk to you about it?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned and tore his attention from Dean to Maria. She was busy wiping unidentifiable food from the baby's face and had missed Dean and Carmelita's exchange so far. He remembered how Maria had sent her children out of the room yesterday before talking to them about the civatateo and he had a feeling Maria would not approve of their conversation.

"Maria," Sam said. She looked up from her son, a mother's smile lingering on her face. "Do you know a Nahuatl word that might sound a little like, well, maybe like macaroni?"

Maria laughed. "Macaroni? No, no." She paused and scrunched her face in concentration. "Maybe – macehualli?"

"That's it!" Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at Maria.

Sam turned to look at his brother and his face crinkled in amusement. "Macaroni?"

"Hey, I knew it sounded like a pasta," Dean said with a shoulder shrug.

Maria laughed. "It means a commoner or someone not of noble rank."

"Why would she call Dean a commoner with one breath and acknowledge him as a hunter in the next?" Sam wracked his brain, running through the Aztec social ranking system. "Weren't hunters or warriors considered to be of greater social importance than the common man?"

"She called you a hunter?" Maria whipped her head back to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said. "She said, 'Amini' more respectfully than she had called me macehualli, but she didn't seem any happier about it."

"I doubt she was," Maria said. "However, it does explain why she targeted you if she thinks you're a hunter." Dean and Sam exchanged knowing glances.

"How?" Sam asked. He pushed his red beans along his plate with a tortilla. He should eat, he knew he should be hungry, but there didn't seem to be any room in his stomach.

"Pedro's family is descended from a documented Aztec warrior. That is why he had the ceremonial dagger. It was given to his ancestor when he achieved jaguar status." Maria's eyes had tears in them before she blinked the moisture away. "The police say his dagger will be returned when the case is closed, but I'm afraid it will disappear from lock up and end up in a collector's hands like many other artifacts do. Pedro would be devastated if his family's history ended up in the wrong hands instead of Roberto's."

"I'm sure you'll get it back," Sam said, the weight of the knife suddenly feeling very heavy in his waistband. He wanted to tell her he had it, but he couldn't risk Maria demanding the dagger back until they had used it to defeat the civatateo.

"I hope so."

"¿Mamá, puedo ser dispensado yo?" Roberto asked. He squirmed in his chair and bounced his legs.

"Roberto, speak English around our guests," Maria admonished.

Roberto gulped and spoke slowly. "Mama, may I be excused?"

"Yes, you may," Maria replied. She smiled when Roberto took his dishes to the sink. She turned back to Sam. "If someone needed Pedro's dagger to kill the civatateo, they would have my blessing."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean beat him to the punch. "Not that we have the dagger, because that would be violating the law and making you an accomplice. But if we did, we'd make sure you got it back."

"Just make sure she stays dead," Maria said, her brown eyes flashing. "Forever this time."

"I promise," Dean said, green eyes reflecting his sincerity.

"Dean, you can't promise her that." Sam put down his fork and returned his brother's steady gaze. They were far from figuring out how to defeat the civatateo.

"I can, Sam," Dean insisted. "She's going down."

"Thank you," Maria said, her eyes expressing gratitude. "Carmelita, please take the baby and get him ready for his bath."

"Yes, mama," Carmelita said. She slid out of her chair, put her dishes in the sink and picked up the baby who was nearly one-third her size. She waddled down the hall with the baby. He was making squealing noises and patting her on the head the entire trip to the far end of the house.

Sam turned back to the table and gave Maria a questioning look. "She can read the minds of the people she kisses, can't she?"

The point blank question not only seemed to take Maria by surprise, but Dean as well. "I, I don't know." Maria said. "Pedro did say he had very realistic dreams about her."

Sam nodded. "After she kissed Dean, but before she said the curse, she asked if I was his younger brother."

"She did?" Dean's voice wasn't questioning as much as it was hard and angry. "She deliberately cursed you because she knew you were my little brother?"

Sam ignored Dean and focused on Maria. "Can she?"

Maria crumpled. Her shoulders shook and she looked down the hall in the direction her children had gone. "I don't want to risk my children. Please, just go."

Sam nodded, but Dean stood and angrily pushed back his chair. He slapped his palms on the table causing both Maria and Sam to start. "We will get her, I promise. Come on, Sam, let's go."

Sam pushed up from his chair suppressing a groan as his joints cracked and a fiery burn spread from his knees, hips and shoulders, radiating outwards. He couldn't keep up with Dean and by the time he reached the door, Dean knew it too.

"It's bad, isn't it, Sammy?" Dean's green eyes reflected concern, the tight-line of his mouth told of unspoken anger.

"I'm fine."

"Don't lie, Sam. We can't afford to keep secrets," Dean said. He didn't wait for a response this time and grasped Sam's elbow. He opened the door and a light, warm desert breeze wafted in.

Sam allowed Dean to guide him outside and down the stairs, but he resisted once they reached the path. The velvety night air hung thick around them, in the distance a coyote howled. "Slow down, Dean," Sam wheezed trying to catch his breath.

Dean slowed his steps, but didn't relinquish his hold on Sam's elbow. Dean opened the door to the Impala and eased Sam inside. He shut the door with a light click and walked around the car to join Sam. They rode in silence for several minutes.

Sam caught the sidelong glance from Dean. "What?"

"Sam, do you really think she could read my mind?" Guilt tinged Dean's tone.

"Dean, it isn't your fault," Sam said. Sometimes the things Dean felt responsible for defied all reason. "She's an ancient supernatural creature that may be able to read thoughts of the men she kisses. Nothing that happened is your responsibility."

"Except the kiss." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean cut him off. "I think there's something else."

"What?" Sam asked. A cough niggled his throat and he swallowed hard several times trying to keep it at bay.

"She's in my dreams," Dean supplied. He thumped his hand on the steering wheel. "Not just in my dreams, she a part of them. I can feel her, smell her hair, taste her kiss."

"We may be able to use that to our advantage," Sam said. The cough that had merely been threatening erupted with a savage hacking fit. He coughed and coughed, his vision graying around the edges. He felt Dean's hand on his shoulder and he heard Dean ask him if he was okay, but he couldn't find the breath to answer or the strength to shake his head.

He coughed until it turned into a gag. His stomach contents heaved. Sam thumped on the passenger door several times to let Dean know he needed to pull over. He fumbled with the door handle.

"Sam, stop!" A yank on his t-shirt pulled him away from the door. The car jerked to a sudden stop and this time, Dean didn't prevent him from opening the door.

The gravel slid and turned under his feet as he stumbled to the side of the road. "Not here, Sammy. It's not safe."

Dean's hand on his arm guided him to the lighted area in front of the car. He fell to the ground, gravel imbedding in his knees through the protective denim. He retched several times, and felt Dean's hand on his back. Somehow in spite of the fact he felt miserable, his eyes watering and his raw throat, he felt better. That no matter what happened; his big brother would make everything all right.

Finally spent, he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving as he sucked in a great lungful of air. He jumped when Dean's face appeared directly in his line of vision only inches from his own. "Sammy, are you okay?" Fear mingled with the concern in Dean's voice.

Sam nodded, not sparing the breath to answer. He scooted away from the pile of sick and crab-walked faster when the pile sifted and moved. "Dean," he gasped, his bottom skidding along the ground as he lifted a hand to point at the vomit.

Dean didn't move his hand from Sam's shoulder, but twisted to look over his shoulder. Rivulets of sand churned amongst the food and bile. It flowed away from the vomit and joined the sand at the side of the road.

Insects scurried to the feast. Vinagaroons, ants, spiders and one long-tailed lizard all took advantage of the easy, protein-rich meal. The swarming insects and the amorphous sand created a disturbing image of a living sea of sick.

Dean turned back to Sam. "Well hell."

_TBC_

..……………………………………………………..**Supernatural**………………………………………………………

AN: I am SO sorry this took so long to update. I have no excuse other than real life. In fact, I am beginning to fear this story is cursed, Wysawyg's computer the latest casualty. You might want to burn a little sage after reading. LOL

Thank you for reading (and sticking with me on the huge delay!).

As always – it is much appreciated.

AN2: Hey, I actually did get two things posted during the two week period of the auction. Woot! What auction? Glad you asked. K Hanna Korossy is running a Supernatural fanfic auction to benefit a fellow writer in need of a new wheelchair. There are over twenty-five authors, including myself, participating and two vidders! Check out the link on my bio and swing by the auction. It is free and easy to register to bid and one hundred percent of the money goes towards the purchase of the wheelchair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **Sam and Dean belong to Kripke. I own nothing. Ratsafras!

**Beta'd: **By Wysawyg, the Beta Guru. You can't have her though. She's mine! All mine! Or…not - I suppose not. Um, yeah, don't own her either, darn it!

**Time Line: **Set between _Houses of the Holy _and _Born Under a Bad Sign._

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

_Finally spent, he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving as he sucked in a great lungful of air. He jumped when Dean's face appeared directly in his line of vision only inches from his own. "Sammy, are you okay?" Fear mingled with the concern in Dean's voice._

_Sam nodded, not sparing the breath to answer. He scooted away from the pile of sick and crab-walked faster when the pile sifted and moved. "Dean," he gasped, his bottom skidding along the ground as he lifted a hand to point at the vomit. _

_Dean didn't move his hand from Sam's shoulder, but twisted to look over his shoulder. Rivulets of sand appeared amongst the food and bile, twisting and churning through it. It flowed away from the vomit and into the sand at the side of the road. _

_Insects scurried to the feast. Vinagaroons, ants, spiders and one long-tailed lizard all took advantage of the easy meal. The swarming insects and the amorphous sand created a disturbing image of a living sea of sick. _

_Dean turned back to Sam. "Well hell." _

….…………………………………….………………..**Chapter Six**…………………………………………………………..

Sam's skin crawled. He could feel insects in his pant legs and making their way north. He scrambled to his feet and frantically brushed his jeans. He pulled on the fabric and shook it vigorously, hoping to dislodge the invading force.

"Sam?" Dean's hand squeezed his shoulder gently and concerned green eyes met his. "What's wrong?"

"Gotta get them out," Sam puffed out breath in staccato bursts. He fought back a cough causing his eyes to water and he felt his chest tighten. All he wanted right now were the bugs out of his clothes.

"Sam?" Dean's face swam in his vision and Sam changed his focus from his clothes to remaining upright as his equilibrium tilted. He fisted Dean's t-shirt with one hand and grabbed his forearm with the other. Dean's hands came up and gripped Sam's biceps. "Sam!"

"I'm okay," Sam insisted weakly. "I have bugs in my jeans and…" He stopped abruptly and twisted to see his back. His already compromised balance deserted him and he stumbled sideways, held upright only by Dean's strong grip.

"Easy, Sam." Dean moved from a restraining position on his arms to a support gesture with one arm tucked around Sam's back and the other at his elbow.

"Can't, Dean," Sam said. "It's my back. There're bugs on my back." He squirmed, attempting to break free from Dean. "Please." The last word came out as a whispered plea. The sensation of tiny legs on his skin was driving him insane.

He was propelled forward and hit the hood of the Impala with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. The cough he'd been holding at bay exploded out of his chest and he fought to catch his breath. Distantly, Sam felt Dean rubbing his back under his shirt. His brother's hands strangely cool in the warm, desert night air.

"No bugs," Dean announced. "There's nothing there, Sam."

The muted sensation lingered and Sam squirmed on the hood. "Let me up," he said through gritted teeth. The metal hood was quickly growing too hot, although the confining nature of Sam's position against the car and the bugs were the real reasons. The pressure on Sam's back immediately disappeared and Dean pulled him off the hood.

Sam twisted and rested his backside on the Impala. He took a deep breath and ran a shaky hand through his hair. His vision grayed. He felt himself slowly sliding down the slope of the hood, but a tight grip around his biceps halted the motion. Sam knew it was Dean, but he couldn't get his eyes to focus. The dark shadows of the night were melding into one blurry point.

He heard Dean call to him, but Dean's voice sounded odd, like Sam was hearing it from under water. His ears popped, forcing a groan from his constricted throat. "Sam! What's wrong?" The panic came through Dean's voice if nothing else.

Sam's fingers dug into his brother's arms. He couldn't speak, couldn't get his mind to form the words to speak. His knees buckled. "Sammy!" For one brief moment, Sam thought he would be able to maintain consciousness. That was before everything wavered and tipped, sending Sam crashing towards the ground held upright only by his brother's arms. "I got ya." A quiet reassurance through the dark and then Sam felt no more.

-0-0-

The familiar rumble of the Impala's engine and the gentle rocking motion it made traversing the gravel road woke Sam. His head rested on the warm window. He fought back a wave of nausea and growing fear. Things were not going well. He felt ten times worse than he had this morning and he worried he would not have time to complete the research he still needed to do.

Sam didn't want to die, but he wanted Dean to live more. With every passing hour his strength ebbed as the curse ran its course. He worried that if they figured out how to stop the civatateo it would be too late, at least for one of them. He could only hope he had the ability to stop Dean if he tried something stupid.

The gentle waves of moving air across his face from the partially opened window helped calm his nausea. He blinked several times, trying to clear the grit scratching his eyes. In the end, he kept them closed. It required less effort. Sam shifted in the seat trying to get more comfortable and moaned.

"Sam, you awake?" The innocent question didn't match the residual stress in Dean's voice. A hand on his shoulder offered silent comfort. Sam groaned in response, anything else seemed to require too much energy.

"Sam, I'm taking you to the hospital."

"No," he managed past uncooperative lips. He lifted heavy eyelids and twisted in the seat until he could see Dean. Even in the dark he could see the hard set of Dean's jaw and the tension in his shoulders.

"No more argument, Sam," Dean said. "This has gone too far, you need help."

"You know they can't help me," Sam said softly. He felt too weak to push himself off the window so he scooted on the seat until his back rested on the door to face his brother. "We're the only ones that can stop this."

"You mean, I'm the only one," Dean corrected, his tone hard.

"No, I meant us." Sam bumped Dean's leg with his knee to gain his attention. He needed Dean to listen to him. "I have an idea, I just need to research a little bit more when we get back to the motel."

"We're not going to the motel, Sam." Dean's tone left no room for argument, but that never stopped Sam.

"I won't stay." Sam crossed his arms across his stomach in an effort to fend off the ever-present nausea. "You can take me, but I won't stay."

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean said. He turned to fix Sam in a hard stare. Whatever he saw not only caused his gaze to soften, but worry to settle into his face.

"I must look as bad as I feel, huh?" Sam asked, trying to keep his tone light and failing. Dean's face scrunched at Sam's words. "You have to give me the time to figure this out."

"It looks like we may be running a little short on time," Dean said. He stopped the car and twisted in the seat to face Sam. "If we do this, this is our last shot, our only shot to defeat her. If it doesn't work, I'll take care of it."

"I can't let you do that," Sam replied softly.

"You can't stop me." Dean set another pointed gaze at Sam, then turned in the seat and headed to town.

That much was true. Sam didn't have the speed or strength he'd need to be able to stop Dean right now. "All the more reason not to fail," Sam said.

"I mean it, Sam, I'm not letting you die." Dean didn't take his eyes off the road, but Sam knew what he'd see in Dean's eyes if his brother looked at him. Determination, resolve, Dean meant what he said.

"You're my brother too," Sam replied, his voice weaker than his spirit after the last coughing fit. "What makes you think I'm going to let you die?"

It was the Winchester version of a Mexican standoff, each brother more willing to sacrifice themselves than be responsible for or live with the death of the other. A silence fell in the car, tension as thick as the desert night air. The flickering, multi-colored lights of the small hamlet of Lordsberg glittered like jewels on the horizon.

It was Dean who broke the silence. "So, tell me about this plan."

"I told you, I still need to research it more," Sam said.

"You're just afraid I won't like your idea," Dean shot back. "You're pretty sure already or you wouldn't have said anything at all."

Sam leveled a glare at his brother. "And everyone thinks I'm the psychic," he grumbled.

"I can't read your mind, Sammy," Dean said, his voice lighter than it had been since Sam collapsed. "I just know you." Dean offered him a small smile, quickly turning his attention back to the road. "It would've been a hell of a lot easier growing up if I had been able to read your mind," he muttered under his breath.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I think we need to perform a sacrifice." Dean's head shot in his direction and he narrowed his eyes. Sam winced. He really needed to work on his delivery. "I think Pedro was on the right track. We need to cut out her heart and offer the blood of the cursed one to bring it to life."

Sam could feel the heat of Dean's glare. "The cursed one, Sam?" Anger overpowered the residual concern in Dean's tone. "Don't you mean you?"

"In this particular case, yeah, but Dean…"

"No 'but Dean,'" Dean interrupted, waving a hand at Sam's argument. "We've already been over this. I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself."

"I'm not talking about a blood sacrifice," Sam corrected. "I'm talking about adding blood to the sacrifice to make it a blood sacrifice."

Dean turned to look at Sam with a perfect scrunched version of his 'what the hell' face. He shook his head and turned back to the road. "You lost me on that one." Dean pulled into the motel parking lot and into the spot closest to their room door. He killed the engine, pocketed his keys and twisted in the seat to face Sam.

"Aren't we going in?" Sam jerked a thumb towards the room door.

"As soon as you explain your verbal acrobatics," Dean said. "We're not going anywhere until I understand what you mean."

"The civatateo are vampires of a sort, but they live off the essence of a person rather than their blood," Sam explained. He pulled out the golden dagger and pointed to a glyph on its hilt. "This is the symbol of Huitzilopochtli. They serve him and accompany him westward with the setting sun, endowed with superhuman abilities of their own. However, like many Aztec gods these creatures crave human blood."

Dean nodded. "I know all this, Sam, we've already been over it."

"Sure, right, but the point is, Dean, the civatateo are dead." Sam placed a hand on the dashboard to steady himself when a wave of dizziness hit. "So, to sacrifice our civatateo to Huitzilopochtli we need to add blood to her heart to make it a blood sacrifice."

Dean opened his mouth to speak and Sam cut him off. "The blood doesn't have to be a sacrifice, because the civatateo is the sacrifice. We just need enough to bring her heart to life. I'm thinking about a pint, no more than a regular blood donation."

"First of all," Dean began his rant. "You still haven't explained why the cursed one needs to donate the blood." Sam opened his mouth to answer and Dean cut into him with a pointed glare. "Secondly, a pint? Sam, normally that may be nothing, but you can't tell me you're not feeling sick and I mean, really sick."

Sam guiltily looked away. "Sam, look at me." Sam steeled himself for the look of pity he was sure would be in Dean's eyes. He was surprised to see understanding glittering from the green depths. "I get why you're trying to hide it, but like I said, Sam. I know you."

"I know you too, Dean," Sam said. He did know his brother, better than anyone else. Sam never doubted Dean's love for him or that his big brother would always be there for him when Sam needed him. What Sam needed now was for Dean to understand it went both ways. "I know why you don't like this plan and to be honest, I can't say I'm overly enthusiastic, but I think it's the only way."

"Why you?" Dean asked. "Why can't it be any old blood, lamb's blood or something?"

"It has to be human blood and, for the curse to be broken, it has to be the one she chose." Sam shifted in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. The pressure on his joints was making sitting for too long painful.

"Because of me." Dean didn't give Sam a chance to reply. He exited the car and came around to the passenger side. Sam twisted so his back was once again resting on the seat instead of the door. "I really don't like it, Sam," Dean said, opening the door.

Dean reached inside and looped an arm through Sam's, helping him stand. "I know you don't," Sam said, his tone sincere. "I wouldn't like it either if, the tables were turned and, it was you." And there it was - that glimmer of surprise on Dean's face that cut Sam to the core. He entwined his fingers in Dean's t-shirt, not minding the sweat-damp material. "Thanks."

"Let's just get inside and you can rest for awhile. I'll grab us a late night snack and we'll go over the plan," Dean said, quickly going over a mundane check off list. It was a blatant attempt to fill the void of silence with white noise, a classic Dean avoidance technique. He pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and they stumbled to the door. "You got it?" Dean asked loosening his hold on Sam.

"Yeah," Sam said. He pressed his fingers into the door frame to steady himself. The sun-warmed wood grounded him, kept him steady. Sam tried to keep his balance when the earth seemed to tilt beneath his feet. His shoulder fell hard against the door.

Dean fisted Sam's shirt and held him in place. He opened the door and bodily moved Sam inside and steered him to the bed. "Table," Sam instructed, fighting Dean's pull.

"Bed," Dean contradicted. Sam pulled harder against Dean's grip, but it wasn't enough to stop him.

"Dean, we don't have time…" His protest was cut short when Dean grabbed his ankles and swung his legs onto the bed. "Dean, I'm not a kid anymore, you can't just force me to go to bed. We don't have time."

"We do have time," Dean said, pulling off Sam's boots. "Just a couple hours of sleep, Sam. After that, I'll order pizza and you can play Nancy Drew on the computer."

Sam's ailing body started to shut down the moment his head hit the pillow. "Two hours?"

"I promise," Dean replied. He held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You were never in the scouts."

"Spit shake then," Dean offered. He made spitting noises into the palm of his hand and held it out to Sam.

Sam grimaced in disgust. "That's okay. I trust you."

"Good choice."

Dean sat down on the opposite bed and pulled out the dagger. Sam watched between longer and longer blinks as Dean examined the symbols on the weapon. He yawned deeply and settled into the bed, pulling the blankets from the far side of the bed over himself. Sam ran through a list of steps he needed to take before they sought out the civatateo as well as the items he needed to verify about the sacrificial rites. He was having a difficult time relaxing enough to sleep. Sam sighed, the deep breath garnering Dean's attention.

Dean frowned slightly, turning to rest his back against the headboard. He set the dagger down and hummed quietly under his breath. Sam closed his eyes. Dean was too quiet for him to pick out the melody, but he listened closely as Dean tapped out the beat of the song on his leg. _Bark at the Moon, _his mind correctly catalogued, allowing Sam to let go of his swirling thoughts and fall asleep.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean glanced over at Sam. His little brother's breathing had evened out though it sounded painfully congested. The beat on his leg morphed into fingers thrumming in agitation. Sam was deteriorating exponentially. Dean didn't know how Sam had made it through the last few hours without resting other than pure Winchester stubbornness. There were times it served them well.

Dean strode over to the table and booted up the laptop. He could do the research too. Right now, Sam needed a break. Besides, he couldn't sleep. He was connected to the civatateo. If he slept, she would visit him in his dreams and she'd know what they were planning to do. Somehow they had to make that work to their advantage, Dean just had to figure out how.

He was hip deep in Aztec ritual when a knock at the door had him leaping from the chair. He glanced over at Sam and frowned. Sam didn't sleep through out of place noises like someone knocking on their door at nearly midnight. Dean peered through the peephole at Father Rodriguez.

Dean swung the door open and moved to fill the open space when the priest tried to enter the room. "Something I can do for you, Father?"

"Actually, yes," Father Rodriguez said. "May I come in?" He waved an arm, gesturing into the room.

"Now's not a good time," Dean said in dismissal, starting to shut the door.

"You did steal the artifact from the sheriff's office, didn't you?" Father Rodriguez asked, his brown eyes snapping in accusation.

Dean moved from shutting the Father out to grabbing him by the collar and dragging him into the room. "What is the problem here, Father?" Dean snapped. "We're here because you needed help with this thing." Dean's voice rose higher in spite of his desire to let Sam sleep longer. "This is how we do it."

"By lying and stealing?" Father Rodriguez asked reproachfully.

"If that's what it takes, yeah," Dean shot back.

"I vouched for my _missionary _to Sheriff Brady," Father Rodriguez said. "I had hoped that trust wasn't misplaced."

"You _vouched _for the guys who are trying to help you get rid of an ancient vampire you have no idea how to take care of yourself," Dean snapped, his voice gaining volume. "Under your expert care one of your parishioners ended up torn to pieces in your church." He glanced over at Sam, his concern ratcheting up to high. Sam hadn't moved in spite of the noise. He crossed the divide and sat down next to Sam. His little brother moaned low in his throat when Dean placed a hand on his forehead. Sam was burning up. "Sam?"

"Dean? Time izzit?" Sam mumbled, his words barely intelligible.

"A little after midnight," Dean said. He shifted until he could see Sam's face and the hovering Father Rodriguez at the same time. "We have company."

Sam frowned at that statement and Dean realized what Sam thought. "Father Rodriguez, no unwanted guests." Dean looked over his shoulder at the Father, daring him to contradict his next statement. "He's just checking up on us. Wants to know how close we are to stopping the civatateo."

Sam squirmed to sit up, the effort seeming to cost him when he coughed roughly. "I hope very close," Sam announced. Sam held his head in his hands. "Dean, can you give me a few minutes to talk to the Father alone?"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. He didn't know Father Rodriguez, not really. During the events in Providence, Father Gregory had shaken his faith in good men doing the right thing. The priest had listened to people's confessions, private or otherwise, and used that information to manipulate them into killing people.

It didn't matter what his intentions were or how righteous he felt his cause was. Father Gregory had used people's trust and need for redemption against them and Dean couldn't forgive him for that. He'd shaken not only Sam's faith in himself, but his faith that he could be saved, that Dean alone without some higher force to counterbalance all the lure of evil would be enough. Father Gregory had stolen Sam's remaining hope that they weren't in this fight alone.

Dean looked at Sam. He was pale, had dark circles under his eyes and he slumped against the headboard, too tired to sit upright. Sam was not strong enough to defend himself. Something Dean never expected, never wanted to think about his brother. "No way, I'm not leaving you alone."

Sam met Dean's gaze, his hazel eyes etched by added lines. Sam's brow was permanently creased, drawn lines lurking around the edges of his face. They didn't have much time and Sam needed this. For whatever reason he wanted to speak to the priest, the need rested plainly on his face and in his eyes. "Please, Dean."

Dean caved almost instantly. "Ten minutes, Sam. That's it."

"That's enough." Sam nodded tiredly, offering Dean a small smile. "I could eat."

"Yeah?" Dean asked enthusiastically. "You're hungry?"

"A little," Sam replied, puffing a laugh.

Dean tapped Sam on the shoulder and turned to face Father Rodriquez. He stood close to the priest, his face hardening. "Don't give Sam a hard time about stealing the dagger. He didn't do it," Dean said, harshly his quiet voice carrying all the danger of its normal volume.

Father Rodriguez met Dean's gaze with the strength of his convictions. "I am certain you are telling the truth, Dean. However, you must know I cannot approve."

"Disapprove all you like," Dean said, fixing the priest with a final hard glare. "Just keep it away from Sam."

The priest inclined his head marginally in Dean's direction. "You have my word."

Dean nodded and looked over his shoulder at his little brother. Sam was sitting braced against the headboard, watching the exchange. "Ten minutes."

"Go." Sam waved him off and Dean took his cue, leaving Sam alone with the priest.

The night air carried the sounds of yipping coyotes, the leathery wings of a cloud of bats crossing the moon's path and the goodnight melody of a songbird. The cooling air hung in velvet folds of night sky. From somewhere across the distance, the scent of chapparel drifted across the sand. Dean started the car, flicking off the radio. He didn't want the usual musical score accompaniment to his inner musings.

He headed to the lone gas station in town, bypassing the café on this trip. Despite Sam's words, Dean doubted his brother would be able to eat much or even that he was actually hungry. He tapped his hand on the steering wheel as he thought about why Sam wanted to talk to Father Rodriguez. Staring his own mortality in the face, maybe Sam wanted to talk to the priest about spirituality, but Dean had a sneaking suspicion that wasn't it, or at least not all it was.

Sam had to know that Dean wouldn't let it come to that. He'd meant what he told Sam earlier and he knew Sam knew it too. Although, Sam could be conspiring to keep Dean from being able to carry through with his promise, now that Dean did believe.

No one else was in the parking lot when Dean pulled into the gas station. He made quick work of shopping finding two sandwiches that didn't look too watery, amazingly a fresh apple and a couple of bottles of water with little difficulty in the tiny convenience section of the station.

The goth cashier sported a hooped nose ring, a stud through her tongue and long strands of dark hair that partially concealed her face. She projected an emo image the likes of which Dean had rarely seen. He smiled, trying to coax a reaction other than a sneer of indifference. When it failed miserably, he tossed her the ten bucks he owed for the sandwiches and drinks, resolving to apologize to Sam for teasing him about his brooding ability.

The drive back to the motel passed quickly, the town lights fading into his rearview mirror. He hadn't pulled into the lot yet when his cell began to ring insistently. He checked the caller ID. It was Sam. "Yeah?"

"Dean?" the voice through the phone was higher and less controlled than his brother's.

"Father Rodriguez?" Dean asked. He floored the gas pedal, turning the corner sharply into the lot leaving a line of rubber and a squeal behind.

"Dean, you need to come back now," the priest insisted. Sam's abbreviated yell came through the phone.

"I'm here." Dean didn't bother to disconnect the call. He scrambled out of the car and back into the room, the door slamming hard against the wall as he entered.

Sam hadn't made it out of bed. His body arced and he clipped back a scream, tugging frantically at his clothes. Dean crossed the distance in record time. "Sammy!" He held Sam's shoulders in a painful grip trying to garner his brother's attention. "Sam!"

"Dean?" Sam's eyes popped open. Dean cringed at the panicked look in Sam's hazels. "The bugs. They're back."

"Sam, there're no bugs." Dean said with a calmness he didn't feel. "I checked, remember?"

"I feel them," Sam forced out as another wave hit. He pulled on his shirt.

Dean pried the material out of Sam's fingers and lifted his shirt, expecting to reassure his little brother. "God, Sam," Dean whispered. Ropes of undulating movement could be seen under Sam's skin, invisible snakes criss-crossed and looped over Sam's chest, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans and behind his back.

"What are they?" Father Rodriguez asked, bending closer.

"Get the hell away," Dean growled, looking over his shoulder at the priest. He turned his attention back to Sam. "Sam, there's something moving under your skin. It almost looks like the scarabs from 'The Mummy.'"

"S-sand," Sam theorized. "Like the other times."

"Just take it easy, Sam. I'll take care of it." Dean said. How, he didn't know. Cutting the sand out like Brendan Fraser didn't seem like a good idea. This was it. Once Sam was safe, he was calling that bitch to him and either killing her or dying trying. Either way, it would be over, at least for Sam.

Sam grabbed a fistful of Dean's t-shirt and pulled him downwards with a strength Dean would not have guessed Sam possessed. He had to drop a hand to the bed to keep from face-planting on top of Sam. "Don't even think about it," Sam hissed, his voice carrying not only pain, but anger. "We have a plan. Stick to it."

With a shuddering movement, Sam's taut muscles relaxed and he slumped onto the bed. The moving sand once again disappearing. "You really have to quit doing that, Sammy," Dean said. "You're starting to freak me out."

Sam huffed a laugh that turned into a small sob at the end. "Just starting?"

"Well yeah, I mean, a certain level of freakiness is to be expected, but you're just showing off now." Dean tried to smile reassuringly. "Obsessive over-achiever."

Sam smiled. "Impulsive smart ass." His lips turned down into a grimace and his hand fell from Dean's shirt. "Dean, I'm gonna be sick."

Dean stretched, reaching for the trash can. "Here." Sam heaved and a stream of sand hit the basket. He heaved again. A fine sheen of sweat coated his ashen face. The third time Sam heaved, Dean knew his brother was in trouble. His eyes had gone from hurting to wide-eyed panic. Sam couldn't breathe.

Dean tucked himself half-way behind Sam to support him, one hand resting on Sam's back. The other reached for his discarded cell phone. Sam grasped his wrist tightly, panic lending him added strength. A final heave and Sam collapsed against him, panting.

Dean's heart thudded hard against his chest, fear for his brother causing it to race. He heard a litany of "you're okay" in the background. It took him a moment to realize he was the one talking. He didn't know how long they sat, both recovering, until Sam started choking.

"Sam?" Sam's half-closed eyes were glossy, confusion lurking in the hazel. A stream of blood trickled from his nose, glittering with sand crystals. Dean tilted Sam forward, catching him around the chest to keep Sam from falling face first onto the bed. He used the edge of the sheet to pinch Sam's nose shut. "Just breathe through your mouth," he coached.

Sam nodded, apparently not quite as out of it as Dean had feared. Dean made eye contact with the priest for the first time since he'd snapped at him. "I've got it. You can go." The very fact Sam didn't protest his blunt manner with the priest spoke volumes to Dean.

"I understand," Father Rodriguez said. Instead of heading out the door, however, he went into the bathroom. Moments later, he dropped a hand towel on Dean's leg and set a glass of water on the bedside table. "Please tell Samuel I will do as he asked."

Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but only nodded in response. He didn't acknowledge the priest when he turned to walk away. The door shut with a quiet snick and the brothers were alone. Sam's breathing was uneven and punctuated by occasional, muffled, pain-filled gasps. Several minutes ticked by, Dean applying pressure, Sam allowing it. A shaky hand touched his. Dean relinquished his grip on the towel and Sam pinched it to his nose.

"Sam, I know how we can get her to meet us at the altar by the crossroads." Dean continued on ignoring the look of surprise on Sam's face when he turned his head marginally to look at Dean. It hadn't been hard to follow Sam's precise notes. "You know, Blood Rock." Sam nodded against his chest. "When we're ready, I just need to sleep. When I dream, I know I'm somehow actually connected to her."

Sam twisted, attempting to look over his shoulder at him. Dean slid out from behind his brother, replacing his body with three pillows. He moved to sit on the other bed, creating some necessary distance to continue. Sam had his eyebrows raised in question. "The dreams I've been having, Sam. It's like I'm there with her, but more than that. She's speaking in Nahautl, but while I'm asleep, I understand what she's saying."

"Like dream walking?" Sam asked, his voice scratching past tortured vocal chords.

Dean shook his head. "Not from the way I remember Dad describing it. It's more like she's a part of me and I'm a part of her."

"So, more like a Vulcan mind-meld?" Sam whispered hoarsely. A smile teased his lips. He leaned back against the pillows and tossed the towel onto the side table. Spying the glass of water, he snagged it and drank greedily.

"Actually, yeah." Dean frowned as Sam finished the water. He didn't want Sam to get sick again. "I say we go after her now, Sam."

"We can't." Sam shook his head. "The ceremony has to take place as the sun sets."

Dean fought to control his reaction. They couldn't wait another sixteen hours, no way. "Why?"

"Huitzilopochtli is a sun god. We have to wait until the sun is close to setting, when the civatateo journey with him across the sky." Sam coughed and licked his lips. "That's our best chance."

"What are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Dean snapped, his frustration lying not in his brother, but in his helplessness.

"Learn the ritual, prepare for the ceremony." Sam rested his head against the wall.

"Nuh-uh," Dean interrupted. "If we're going to wait, you sleep."

"Dean."

"Sam." Under normal circumstances, Dean would have laughed at the expression of exasperation on Sam's face. There were days he lived for getting a rise out of his little brother. "Look, I can get everything ready."

Sam pulled his knees up towards his chest and rested his arms on bent legs. "I'm not really tired right now. Thought maybe we could work on it together?"

Dean recognized the tentative voice immediately even if it was disguised under layers of deeper tone and years of maturity. Sam was afraid to go to sleep. "Sure. I'll make the coffee." Dean jumped up to fill the carafe and started the coffee brewing. "Do you want me to bring you the computer?"

The scrunching lines of Sam's face eased a fraction. "Actually, I'm going to shower first. I feel gritty." They both understood the implication of Sam's statement and the ever-present sand.

"Don't stay in there too long. There's a lot to do if you're serious about helping." It felt like a good lie. One that Sam would believe and didn't sound like he really just didn't want Sam out of his sight. The quirked eyebrow and small smile on Sam's face told him he was busted.

"I won't." Sam slowly eased his legs off the bed and pushed himself to standing. He walked on stiff legs, groaning like an octogenarian when he bent over to retrieve clean clothes. Dean resisted the urge to hover, giving Sam the space to be independent like he obviously wanted.

"Hey, you still hungry?" Dean called through the bathroom door shortly after Sam shut it.

"A little." Sam's response was muffled by the combination of the door and the running water. "Coffee first."

"It's coming up." Dean paced the room, trying to contain his growing agitation at the forced inactivity. He straightened the twisted blankets on Sam's bed and swore when Sam's cell phone fell out and landed on his foot. It was a good thing he wore heavy boots. He checked the screen, noticing the call to his phone had never been disconnected. He ended the call and placed it on the side table by Sam's bed.

Dean picked up his phone, turned it off and shoved it in his pocket, absently rubbing the sore spot on his hip. Almost immediately it started jingling and playing 'Smoke on the Water.' He glanced at the readout. He didn't recognize the phone number. "Yeah?"

"Dean?"

_TBC_

………………………………………………………………**Supernatural**……………………………………………………..


	7. Chapter 7

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **They belong to someone else.

**Beta'd: **By Carocali whose ability to ferret out what is missing (as well as what isn't needed) and _when _it should happen astounds me and Muffy Morrigan for all things desert and who always pushes me to pull out _more_.

Special thanks to Charlie Girl – one of the best gals I know for keeping the physical scenes and flow in her head. Thanks for helping me through that one section!

Special thanks also to a fellow writer who gave me _the _piece of advice that revived my muse when I got stuck on a particular scene. _Don't write it. _Thank you!

**Time Line: **Set between _Houses of the Holy _and _Born Under a Bad Sign._

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

_The scrunching lines of Sam's face eased a fraction. "Actually, I'm going to shower first. I feel gritty." They both understood the implication of Sam's statement and the ever-present sand._

"_Don't stay in there too long. There's a lot to do if you're serious about helping." It felt like a good lie. One that Sam would believe and didn't sound like he really just didn't want Sam out of his sight. The quirked eyebrow and small smile on Sam's face told him he was busted._

"_I won't." Sam slowly eased his legs off the bed and pushed himself to standing. He walked on stiff legs, groaning like an octogenarian when he bent over to retrieve clean clothes. Dean resisted the urge to hover, giving Sam the space to be independent like he obviously wanted. _

"_Hey, you still hungry?" Dean called through the bathroom door shortly after Sam shut it. _

"_A little." Sam's response was muffled by the combination of the door and the running water. "Coffee first."_

"_It's coming up." Dean paced the room, trying to contain his growing agitation at the forced inactivity. He straightened the twisted blankets on Sam's bed and swore when Sam's cell phone fell out and landed on his foot. It was a good thing he wore heavy boots. He checked the screen, noticing the call to his phone had never been disconnected. He ended the call and placed it on the side table by Sam's bed._

_Dean picked up his phone, turned it off and shoved it in his pocket, absently rubbing the sore spot on his hip. Almost immediately it started jingling and playing 'Smoke on the Water.' He glanced at the readout. He didn't recognize the phone number. "Yeah?"_

"_Dean?" _

..…..……………………………………………………**Chapter Seven**…………………………………………………....

Sam stepped out of the bathroom to an empty room. Water pooled at his bare feet, dripped off his hair and rolled down his back. He'd scrapped his clothes; the fine layer of sand filled his t-shirt and the sweats making them both unappealing. Sam gripped the towel tightly in his fist and staggered to his bed. Surely there was at least one clean shirt and a pair of jeans left in his duffel. At the rate he'd been burning through them, he couldn't honestly remember.

It surprised him that Dean had left the room. He'd seemed so hell bent on hovering only minutes ago. He was half-dressed by the time the motel room door swung open, letting in a warm night breeze and a furious Dean. The anger lines slipped from Dean's face to be replaced by the scrunched look of concern when he focused his attention on Sam. "Sorry, I decided we needed something stronger than motel coffee to pull off an all-nighter." He held out a latte as a peace offering.

Sam nodded to the nightstand. He finished pulling on his jeans, and slipped into a clean t-shirt. "Something happen?"

"No, why?" Dean asked, taking a seat on the other bed. He cradled the paper cup in his hands, playing with the rim, twanging the lid.

Sam snagged his coffee from the nightstand, taking a sip. The cup warmed his hands, the hot, bitter liquid his insides. "Dean…"

"Maria called," Dean confessed, not making eye contact with him. "Carmelita's missing."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. If Carmelita was missing, they didn't have much time to spare. None of the missing kids had been found. They needed to gather the items for the ritual, research the details, maybe they could push the time frame. Everything he'd read said Huitzilopochtli was the key. The civatateo followed the god and the god followed the sun. The ceremony would have to wait unless he found something new.

"Sam?"

Sam looked up at his brother, the lines of concern had reappeared around Dean's eyes. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure you shouldn't just sleep for awhile?" Dean set his coffee down, then sat forward and gently pulled Sam's cup from his loose grip setting it on the nightstand. "I think you zoned for a minute there."

"No, I was just thinking," Sam said, but he could tell by the way Dean narrowed his eyes that he didn't believe him. He hurried on. "I don't think there's a way to perform the ritual any earlier, but it seems like the place to start."

Dean nodded. "I guess Sherriff Brady's been out to Maria's and there aren't any leads, not that that's surprising." He stood, made a quick circuit in the room and returned to stand in front of Sam. The blue of Dean's jeans caught Sam's attention, the fibers blurred and refocused. He felt a cool hand on his cheek. "Jesus, Sam, you're burning up."

A fever would explain his waning concentration. "I'm fine, Dean."

"You know, you're right," Dean said with a touch of irritation in his tone. He sat down next to Sam, their shoulders nearly touching.

Sam nodded in agreement. The head bobbing slowed and he tossed Dean a look of confusion. "Right about what?"

"Saying you're fine when obviously you're not – it is annoying," Dean said with a smirk.

Sam puffed a laugh. "I'm going to hold you to that next time you do it to me."

"Go ahead," Dean replied, a lop-sided smirk appearing. "I'll deny it."

Sam nodded wearily, but a smile touched his face. He bumped shoulders with Dean. "Like there was any doubt."

Dean knocked his shoulder in return. He walked over to the table, picked up a brown bag and the computer. He brought them over to Sam. "Make yourself comfortable, Sam. Looks like we're going to be here for awhile."

Sam scooted until his back rested gingerly against the headboard, propped by pillows. He didn't know if Dean brought him the computer so he could be at ease or to keep him in bed and, quite frankly, he didn't care. He was exhausted from the simple effort of showering. His entire body ached. "Thanks."

"Get together the list of what you need," Dean said, placing the computer next to Sam. "As much as I really don't want to go without you…" Dean trailed off, gazing at Sam appraisingly. "I don't think we have a choice here, Sam."

Sam dropped his gaze, embarrassed at his own weakness no matter how unavoidable. "We don't, not really." He didn't make eye contact with Dean, unwilling to give his brother any more cause to worry. Sam needed to concentrate on finding the final details of the ceremony.

Sam could feel his brother's penetrating gaze, his concern, his frustration with the situation. Tension radiated from Dean in a palpable force. His brother was a hunter, a take charge, rush into danger kind of guy, sitting around waiting for answers was akin to lighting a match and holding it over the powder keg waiting for the explosion.

Sam watched Dean make his first circuit around the room. Seven paces to the coffee pot, add coffee to his espresso, back to the bed; pace in front of Sam drinking coffee. Pull out the sacrificial knife, his pearl-handled Colt and his favorite shotgun. Sit down on his bed. Abruptly stand up ten minutes into cleaning the weapons and repeat. By the fourth trip, Sam was tired just watching his brother.

"Dean."

"What?" Dean didn't look up. He jiggled a leg at Mach one, while he oiled the shotgun.

"Dean."

"What?" Louder this time and he did look up. "What, Sam?"

"We'll stop the civatateo and find Carmelita." Sam hoped he sounded more certain than he felt. "Just, try to relax a little. You're wound pretty tight, man."

"Sam, this _thing,_" Dean pointed at the door with the shotgun. "Has abducted children, been responsible for several deaths and her latest curse is," he stopped, muscles in his jaw jumping while he chose his next words. "Killing my brother. Excuse me, if I'm a little pissed off about it."

Sam bobbed his head in affirmation. "I didn't mean you shouldn't be angry, but you're wearing me out just watching you run laps around the room." Dean's face fell. Sam instantly regretted the words. The last thing he wanted to do was remind Dean how he poorly he felt. He snagged the tablet of motel paper. "There aren't too many ingredients. For the Aztec, it was mostly about the sacrifice." He scribbled out a quick list.

Dean snagged the paper from his hand. "This is it?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, just a basic purification rite."

"Sage, bottled water, co-copal?" Dean looked up from the paper, his face scrunched. "Copal?"

Sam nodded. "It's from the Nahautl, copalli, meaning incense." He smiled. "You probably would have preferred the Mayan word. They called it, 'porn'."

Dean smirked. "I would have _preferred_ the English word, Sam."

Sam chuckled. "Duly noted." He hit the power button on the laptop waiting for it to obediently light up. His fingers ghosted over the keyboard, not quite typing, the search ideas floating around in his brain. It helped him keep his thoughts straight through the delay. _Aztec human sacrifice, civatateo, Huitzilopochtli, hummingbird/sun god…_Sam's vision blurred. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. When he opened them, Dean hovered only inches from his face.

Sam started, jerking his head backwards. He blinked hard, Dean's face was grainy. _Not good._

"Sam?"

Sam looked over to the computer. He could tell it had finished booting up, but he couldn't read any of the words on the screen. He could barely tell what colors were there. _So very not good._

"Sammy?" Dean's hands gripped his shoulders tightly.

Sam shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his forehead. If he couldn't see, he couldn't help. _Shit._

"Sam!" He felt the hot burn of frustration behind his eyes. A slow trickle started down his face, Dean's hands moved to cup his head. A thumb brushed his cheek. "It's okay."

_Double shit_. _Dean's freaked._ "Sorry," he mumbled.

Dean tilted his head backwards until Sam could see Dean's fuzzy outline. He was haloed in a white, sparkling mist. Sam snorted. Dean was a great guy, an awesome big brother, even a hero, but he wasn't a saint.

"Easy, Sammy, I got ya." Dean's face swam closer. The white grew brighter, nearly blinding. When the flash of light disappeared, so did most of Sam's vision. He gasped, breathing hard. He was hyperventilating. Sam could hear it, he just couldn't stop it. "Relax, Sam."

Sam reached for Dean's t-shirt, his fingers finding enough to pull into his fist. "Dean, I can't see."

"I know." Strong hands eased him down until he was lying on his side. Sharp pain exploded behind his eyes.

"Aaagh!" Sam couldn't stop the yell from erupting from his throat. He was long past his endurance level. It felt as if his eyes were being pushed from their sockets. Sam pressed the heel of his hands tightly against his eyes.

"Breathe, Sam," a voice in the dark, his brother's voice. He responded, as always. His chest obediently expanded. He heard the wheezing sound of expelled air. "That's it, Sammy, just keep breathing."

Sam took several more deep breaths before his body gave up the battle to remain conscious.

-0-0-

The air was cool, but not cold. Light flickered on the other side of Sam's closed eyelids reassuring him that he could see if only he could pry his eyes open. A door opened quietly. "Dean?"

The word came out garbled, but it hardly mattered. The approaching footfalls did not belong to his brother. Sam attempted to open his eyes, make another sound, heck, at this point, he'd be happy with a little head waggle. But he couldn't move, blanketed by the thick cover of lethargy and fatigue.

"Dean will be back soon." Sam recognized the voice. It was Father Rodriguez.

"Where?" Sam grated out.

"Where?" the priest asked. This time Sam did manage to nod his head. "To get the herbs you asked for, some lunch and a few medical supplies from a friend of mine."

Sam tensed, his concern increasing ten-fold. Dean couldn't risk too many curious questions and medical supplies usually garnered attention. He struggled to sit up. He needed to call his brother.

Father Rodriguez placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "He should be back soon. He's been gone about five hours."

Sam peeled his eyes open, blinking up at the priest. The Father's outline was grainy. "Five?" he asked, his voice a shadow of its normal volume.

"Yes, it's nearly one in the afternoon." Father Rodriguez stood, moving to his desk.

Sam folded an arm under his head; apparently Dean had taken him to the church. The two chairs from before had been removed, to be replaced by a cot. Sam's feet were pressed hard to one wall, his head had barely a half an inch clearance on the other one. "Are you sure he's okay?"

The priest chuckled, shaking his head. "He's called every thirty minutes like clockwork. I'm sure he's okay."

Sam propped himself up on one elbow. "You're still willing to do what I asked, right?"

Father Rodriguez steepled his fingers, gazing at Sam appraisingly. "I am. What I'm not entirely clear on is how you think you will fulfill your end of the exchange. You can barely hold your head up."

"Don't worry about me," Sam said. The arm holding his head shook. "I can handle it."

"Someone has to worry about you," Father Rodriguez countered. "About _both_ of you." He shook his head. "Well, other than each other. You seem to have your hands full with that alone."

Sam huffed, a mistake he soon realized when it precipitated a coughing fit. He thought for a moment he would pass out again, his lungs straining to take in air. The room tilted, then righted itself. The spinning continued, just at a slower tempo. "Sorry."

A large, sloppy wet kiss landed on Sam's face. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, the other reaching down to pat the owner of the long tongue on his head. "Maximus," the priest said in a commanding tone.

"S'okay," Sam assured him with a half smile. He patted the dog once more before the giant brindle canine returned to his normal spot by the currently-unlit fireplace. The doors to the front of the church opened with a creak, then slammed shut. The sanctuary fell silent. "Dean's here."

The priest glanced at his watch. "I don't think he's had time to get from town."

A light knock on the door was the only warning before Dean poked his head inside. "He awake yet?"

"Only just," Father Rodriguez replied. He tossed Sam a knowing look, standing up from behind his desk. "I'll be in the sanctuary if you need me." He whistled once, short and sharp. Maximus leapt to his feet to follow.

Dean smiled gratefully, patting the priest on the back on his way by. He walked over, sitting down on the edge of the cot. "Got the stuff on your list."

"What happened?" Sam asked, cutting past the avoidance small talk. He ran his fingers over the rough fabric of the navy blanket. Sam frowned, his brow knitted. He vaguely remembered Dean wiping his face with a warm washcloth. "Did I bleed out my eyes?"

The muscles in Dean's jaw jumped. His stony gaze fixed on the two candles lighting the room. When he turned to meet Sam's eyes, the stormy green had softened. "Yeah," Dean said, finally.

"There was sand in it too, wasn't there?" Sam asked, quietly.

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He sat straight again, his hand resting briefly on Sam's shoulder. "We're gonna take care of this, Sam. I won't let this thing take you."

"Dean, I don't want you doing anything stupid. Please, promise me." He watched Dean's face as emotions flitted across it, finally settling on determination, forehead scrunching slightly, lips pinched.

"I'm sorry, I can't," Dean said, dragging a hand down his face from nose to chin. 'You're my little brother, Sammy. I can't just stand by and watch you die."

"Maybe that's not a big brother thing. Maybe it's just…" Sam trailed off, unable to continue past the lump in his throat.

"Maybe it's just what, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice sharp, eyes vulnerable.

"A _brother_ thing." Sam finished quietly.

Silence hung in the air around them, Sam not backing down from his brother. "Then I guess we better make sure it never comes to that," Dean said. He stood, reaching out a hand to Sam. "Feel up to a road trip?"

"Absolutely." Sam gripped Dean's hand, his brother's fingers closely tightly over his, pulling him upright.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The two hour drive to the mesa was quiet, each brother lost in his own thoughts for most of the trip. Dean cast a sidelong glance at Sam as he pulled up to the mesa. Sam had grown increasingly quiet, his head bobbing until he'd finally fallen asleep. The hot wind whipping through the open window had done nothing to keep them cool. It was the worst time of the day to be out in the remote desert.

The front wheels hit a rut, jarring the occupants one last time. The movement woke Sam. "Where are we?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes.

"You need to stop doing that," Dean reprimanded, pulling Sam's arm down. "Your eyes are really red."

"I'll try not to," Sam said lightly, his lips twitching in a ghost smile. He sat up, looking around. "Are we there yet?"

Dean knew Sam couldn't see well, but the words brought an unbidden chuckle. His eyesight, however, was perfect, and Sam's death glare only amused him further. "Between you rubbing your eyes and those words…I swear Sam, you sound four."

Sam made a sound somewhere between a snort and a huff, slumping back against the seat. The grumbled response sounded vaguely like 'whatever.' Dean's smile faded slowly, the small moment of normalcy disappearing as quickly as it came.

Dean squinted against the bright desert sun. He pulled the Impala to a stop in the crossroads, craning his neck, taking in the view of Blood Rock. The orange-pink mesa sloped upwards nearly a half mile, a silent giant in the great expanse of sand. "Son of a bitch," he whispered under his breath.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Sam's words were meant to lighten the moment, but the weary tone drove Dean's fears home.

"It has to be on top?" Dean asked, hoping Sam had thought of a loop-hole in the already Swiss-cheese plan. "The land surrounding the altar should be holy as well."

"True," Sam conceded. "But the rituals all took place on pyramids and stone altars. The blood is supposed to flow down the western side, following Huitzilopochtli towards the setting sun."

Dean pinched his lips between his forefinger and thumb. He really hated this plan. "Daylight's burning, Sammy. It's going to take at least an hour in this heat to get up that hill."

Sam nodded. "I know."

Dean slapped Sam lightly on the knee. "Gonna get the stuff out of the trunk." He slipped out of the car, the door falling shut with a soft click. His boots crunched against the crusty salmon sand, the metallic granules squeaking in protest beneath his soles.

He emptied the weapons bag of its usual contents, filling it instead with water, the extra medical supplies, the sacrificial Aztec dagger and the purification ingredients his brother had requested. Dean paused, then threw in his Colt and a flask of holy water for good measure. He hadn't kept his family safe all these years by being unprepared.

He rounded the car. Sam's door was open, his long legs resting on the ground. Sam cradled his head in his hands, the mop of sun-bleached, light-brown hair obscuring his face. Dean placed a hand on his little brother's shoulder. "Sam, there is another way."

Sam twisted his head, glaring at him from under a veil of sweaty bangs. "There's a sandstone and obsidian ledge near the summit," Sam said, ignoring Dean's words. "That's where we're headed."

Dean squinted against the bright, white rays. The hill loomed as a daunting task. The heat, the climb, on a good day it wouldn't be his idea of fun. Today, with a dying brother, it felt like one more time they'd have to pull off the impossible. "Piece of cake."

Sam puffed a laugh, the lines of pain around his eyes giving way to creases of amusement. He looked at the hill, up at Dean and dropped his head. Dean frowned, then with perfectly tuned big brother ease, put together the unspoken dilemma. He hooked an arm through Sam's, bending low for leverage. "Thanks," Sam said quietly.

"On three?" Dean waited for a head bob of affirmation. "One, two…" Sam groaned, wobbled, then steadied himself.

"You never wait for three," Sam protested with another small groan.

"I never pegged you as a slow learner, Sammy," Dean said, not relinquishing the hold he had on him. He shifted his grip to Sam's elbow. Sam squinched his face, perplexed. "If you know I never wait, why does it surprise you?"

The momentary look of confusion gave way to a slowly dawning comprehension topped with a layer of embarrassment. "I guess it shouldn't," Sam said, his lips curling in a smile.

Dean returned the smile. "Ready?"

Sam nodded. "Let's go."

-0-0-

It seemed Dean had been optimistic about it only taking an hour to hike up the steep, sandy, rock-strewn hill. He'd stopped several times for Sam to rest, drink, and gather his strength for the next stretch of walking. The sun beat down mercilessly, the heat rolling in rippling waves through the air. Cicadas buzzed in accompaniment until the air itself seemed alive. "I think I'm hallucinating," Dean remarked after a particularly long stretch of silence punctuated only by Sam's desperate wheezing.

"Why?" Sam asked, nearly breathless.

Dean halted, easing Sam onto a mid-size rock. It was shaded by the larger rock behind it keeping it cooler. The rocks themselves were hot enough to sizzle flesh otherwise. He fished out a water bottle and handed it to his brother. "I smell chocolate. I think."

Sam stopped drinking and sniffed the air. "I think it's mesquite."

"Smells like dusty, dark chocolate," Dean said, he wrinkled his nose. "Chocolate doesn't even sound good. Now, an ice cold scoop of ice cream beside a slice of apple pie, that's sounds good."

Sam huffed, chuckled and looked up. Dean followed his gaze. "Buzzards," Sam remarked under his breath.

Dean had a strong, irrational urge to take out his gun. "Stupid birds," he muttered. He noticed Sam had finished most of the water. "You ready?"

At Sam's nod, Dean hoisted him to his feet. He looked around carefully, keeping his eyes peeled for dangers both supernatural and ordinary. A long trail of dust on the desert floor below them caught his attention. "Someone else is out here," he said.

Sam craned his neck, leaning as far as Dean's grip allowed. "Looks like a car all right. Doesn't mean much though, you can see for miles out here," Sam said, his tone tentative.

"Not that there's much to see," Dean grumbled. He had thought the desert a ruggedly beautiful place when they arrived. Now that it threatened to engulf his brother, it was just one more thing they had to fight. He cupped a hand over his eyes, looking uphill. Black obsidian reflected sunlight, sparkling brightly ahead. "Almost there, Sam."

Sam snorted. "You've been lying to me about almost being there for a half an hour, Dean."

"Yeah, well, this time I'm telling you the truth." Dean pointed, his arm stretch over Sam's shoulder to guide his gaze. "See?"

"We are almost there," Sam said, the relief evident in his tone. "Let's go."

Dean didn't need any urging. While he wasn't looking forward to the ceremony, he was hoping it would work. He _needed_ it to work. Sam staggered heavily against him as they trudged the remaining steps to the outcropping. Dean touched a hand to the stone. The obsidian was slightly cool compared to the surrounding rocks.

Sam rested next to him, drinking the remaining water in open bottle. "I can perform the purification ceremony while you meditate," Sam said weakly. "That'll cut the time in half."

"Are you sure?" Dean asked. It concerned him, turning his mind inward essentially left Sam's back unguarded.

Sam nodded wearily. "Yeah. I'll be okay. You call the civatateo."

Dean dug through the bag, laying out all the items Sam needed before taking a seat not far from his brother. His job would be easy. He just needed to call the civatateo to him. Five minutes later, he grew frustrated. He couldn't relax, couldn't concentrate. The smell of sage assaulted his nose. He opened his eyes only to see his struggling brother waving a bundle of burning sage over the altar, his face and torso. "Sam?"

Sam spun on his heel, nearly toppling over backwards. "What?"

"I thought sage kept vampires from picking up your scent."

"It does," Sam replied. "But it's a purification herb and the civatateo isn't exactly a normal vampire." Sam walked slowly back towards Dean, waving the sage over him as well and then he dropped it into the small fire. The flames were nearly extinguished, puffs of gray smoke enveloping the brothers before it burned brightly again. Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder to ease himself back to the ground. "Can't concentrate?"

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "No."

Sam dropped the small chunk of copal in the orange flames. "What's she look like to you?"

"Beautiful," Dean said, closing his eyes for a better mental view. "Slender, but toned, long, silky black hair, coppery skin." He breathed in deeply. "She smells a little like some of the flowers in the desert. Not that one that stinks like rotten meat, the sweet ones."

"Dean," Sam's voice called from far away.

She moved gracefully, one tiny hand cupping his cheek. "Soft lips." He bent his head down towards her.

"Dean." Sam's voice again, firmer this time.

He kissed her gently. "Moconeuh miqui," she whispered in his ear.

"Dean!"

He opened his eyes. Swirling sand was solidifying into the civatateo. She stood between him and Sam, her hand outstretched towards his brother. He had to stop this, had to fight the pull of the ancient vampire. He shook his head to clear it. "Stop!" Dean shouted, the obsidian knife in his belt loop a reassurance.

Dean placed a hand on the civatateo's shoulder, spinning her around. In the same instant, he reached for the dagger, gripping the ornate gold handle tightly. "Miqui!" she hissed.

"Yeah, same to you, bitch," Dean ground out. In one fluid movement he thrust the knife forward. Sand pelted his eyes. "Agh!" He turned his head, driving the dagger blindly. Strong wind buffeted him; the sacrificial knife torn from his grasp. "No!"

Dean fell to his knees. White, billowing cotton appeared in his vision. He followed the material up to her face. Dark almond eyes glittered angrily at him. "Amini." Dean felt his throat constricting. Above the din of whirling sand he heard Sam's ragged, wheezing breaths.

"Sam?"

"Dean," Sam said in a choked whisper.

Dean looked around for the dagger. He couldn't see it anywhere. It was as if the sand had claimed it. He looked up again. The civatateo glared at him, her beautiful young face morphing into an old hag. The symbol of death on her forehead scrunched in fury. She raised a hand to him. "Miqui."

The sand kicked up, engulfing both Sam and Dean in the maelstrom. Dean struggled to stand. Tiny needles of pain, hit his face. "Sam!"

"Moconeuh miqui!" Sand kicked up harder, making visibility impossible. It pummeled Dean as he edged closer to his brother. The wind howled louder and then stopped. Sand rained back to earth. Dean glanced over at Sam. His brother's chest heaved in an effort to take in air.

Sam coughed, expelling puffs of sand in each hacking breath. "M'fine," he said, answering Dean's unspoken question.

Relieved, Dean looked back, gaze traveling upwards to where the civatateo had stood. Instead he saw Father Rodriguez with a gray, necrotic heart in one hand, the gold, sacrificial dagger in the other. Dean sat, his mouth hanging open in shock. "I believe time is of the essence," the priest said.

Dean leaped to his feet. "I, how?"

"Your brother asked me. He said she wouldn't be expecting it."

"She's not the only one." Dean accepted the knife and heart from Father Rodriguez. "Thank you."

"Dean," Sam croaked. "Couldn't tell you. She'd find out if you knew."

"I know, Sam," Dean said, his tone softening. He placed the heart on the stone outcropping, helped Sam stand, and they walked over to the altar. "Are you absolutely sure of this? It has to be your blood?"

"Pretty sure," Sam said, picking up the dagger.

Dean put a hand on Sam's arm. "This could _kill _you, Sam. I'm gonna need a little more here."

"Okay," Sam said, his lips curled in a smile over the familiar words. "I'm _really _pretty sure." Sam held the knife firmly against his skin. He looked up at Dean, his eyes seeking approval. Dean nodded, his heart thumping hard against his chest.

Sam slit his arm. He held it over the gray, petrified heart. The dry fibers soaked in the crimson liquid like sand absorbed the rain. Nothing happened. Blood continued to run from Sam's arm, over the heart, but it remained a dry husk.

"It's not working," Sam said, weakly. "I'm sorry." His hazel eyes sparkled an apology. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I thought it would work." His fingers tightened on the ornate handle of the dagger.

Dean eyed his brother suspiciously. "No more, Sam. Let's get you patched up."

Sam shook his head. "Why?" Sam asked quietly. "I'm dying anyway, Dean. You have to let me go."

Fear thrummed through Dean's veins, turning to anger hot enough to rival the desert air around them when Sam turned the knife inward and held it tight against his chest. Sam's eyes brightened to blue-green with unshed tears and he nodded.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm, his fingers digging into muscle hard enough to bruise. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, Sammy, but I'm not going to let you do it." He ripped the dagger from Sam's grasp.

"You have to," Sam all but whispered.

"I don't think so," Dean said, panic strangely bringing clarity with it. "You're my brother." Sam opened his mouth to interrupt and Dean held up his left hand to silence his brother before he got started. "And I don't think you're the one that's cursed."

Sam's knees buckled and he sat down hard on the edge of the stone altar. "You don't?" He squinted up at Dean.

"I think I am," Dean said, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Listen, Maria said, either the soul dies or the body does. Sam, it isn't two different people, it's one. You're sick because of me."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Dean."

"I do." Dean insisted. "She's drawn to me, she knows my thoughts, she gave _me _the choice. My brother's life or my own, because…" he trailed off, suddenly unsure he wanted to share the revelation with Sam. They didn't need to add emotional blood-letting to the sacrifices of the day.

In the end it wasn't Sam's damnable, puppy dog eyes that broke through his defenses; it was his brother's absolution. "It's okay, I understand, Dean. I do."

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. Without another word, Dean cut his arm, grunting as the knife penetrated deep. A thick stream of blood ran from his arm and soaked into the civatateo's heart.

Red slowly seeped through the gray, slicking the surface. Soon the entire heart was a healthy, dark red. "Dean, that's enough. It isn't working." Sam weakly tried to make a grab for Dean's arm. "Dean, that's enough."

"Not yet," Dean said, his vision graying as the heart darkened. The heart convulsed and beat once, then again and again.

"You did it," Sam said, weakly. He slid off the altar, boneless. Sam moaned, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slipped to the side, his consciousness ebbing.

The blood and centuries old heart continued to meld and Dean swayed as the blood loss overtook him. He lifted the gold handled knife for the last time and plunged it deep into the vampire's heart.

Dean sank to his knees as the heart slowed its beating and stopped, his head resting against the cool stone. He breathed deeply, holding a hand to his arm to staunch the flow of blood. "Sammy?" He pushed himself to his feet with agonizing slowness and stumbled around the altar to where his brother had collapsed.

Sam lay on the ground, sand pouring from his mouth, his eyes, ears and nose. "Sammy!" He dropped to his knees, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. The sand partially formed a face, wailing, then fell to the earth. The sand was gone, the civatateo with it, but Sam wasn't breathing.

A noise to Dean's left drew his attention. He reached into the weapons bag bringing up the Colt. For a fraction of a second Dean saw a man with a bright blue face framed by green feathers in the sight of the gun. He blinked and the man disappeared. Father Rodriguez stepped into view, a sympathetic look on his face. A hand squeezed Dean's shoulder.

"No," Dean whispered. "No!" He dropped his arm, his thick fingers clumsily felt for a pulse on Sam's neck. Dean buried his face against Sam's shoulder and wrapped an arm around his brother's back pulling him into a tight embrace. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy. You hear me? You're gonna be okay."

………………………………………………………………**Supernatural**……………………………………………………

**AN: **There is a reader who really is responsible for this chapter. It isn't that I've lost interest in this story, because I haven't! It just isn't an easy story to write because virtually every scene of consequence requires research or consultation. That being said, I tend to pick up other stories when I get a plot bunny and it catches my interest. I can whip something out a little quicker and it satisfies the niggle in the back of my brain when something wants to be written.

But it isn't fair to those of you who have been reading and patiently waiting. This particular reader reminds me ever so often that I haven't updated in awhile. I'm not going to 'out' her publicly, but I hope she knows who she is - Thanks girl, for poking me when I need it!

My sincere apologies for making ya'all wait so long. This was _the _chapter and there's only one more to go. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **They are not mine, nor do they belong to me. The Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke, who is not me. Which is to say, they do not belong to me, but to someone else. (I may have watched the Power Puff Girls Marathon on MLK Day. I'm not saying I did, but I may have). LOL

**Beta'd: **By the talented Carocali and Muffy, who somehow fit me around their demanding schedules. Thank you!

_I played, tinkered and edited after they beta'd so any and all remaining errors are mine._

**Time Line: **Set some time between _Houses of the Holy_ and _Born Under a Bad Sign_.

AN: Well, this is it folks! It took a year (no really, it did) but this story is nearly finished! I wish I could say I learned my lesson about posting WIP's, but 'all signs point to no.'

_Thanks to all who have read and especially a couple of you who poked me on occasion for updates. I obviously needed them._

_A very special thank you to Lostac for finding copious amounts of data regarding Aztec rituals and Muffy Morrigan for her desert expertise. You ladies were invaluable. Thank you._

AN II: Um, yeah, shoot – well, it was supposed to be the last chapter, but see Dean and then, well, Sam – and well…the real last chapter is almost done. I tried to wait to post this one until it was done, but it was taking too long and I got poked! :D

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

_The blood and centuries old heart continued to meld and Dean swayed as the blood loss overtook him. He lifted the gold handled knife for the last time and plunged it deep into the vampire's heart._

_Dean sank to his knees as the heart slowed its beating and stopped, his head resting against the cool stone. He breathed deeply, holding a hand to his arm to staunch the flow of blood. "Sammy?" He pushed himself to his feet with agonizing slowness and stumbled around the altar to where his brother had collapsed. _

_Sam lay on the ground, sand pouring from his mouth, his eyes, ears and nose. "Sammy!" He dropped to his knees, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. The sand partially formed a face, wailing, then fell to the earth. The sand was gone, the civatateo with it, but Sam wasn't breathing. _

_A noise to Dean's left drew his attention. He reached into the weapons bag bringing up the Colt. For a fraction of a second Dean saw a man with a bright blue face framed by green feathers in the sight of the gun. He blinked and the man had disappeared. Father Rodriguez stepped into view, a sympathetic look on his face. A hand squeezed Dean's shoulder._

"_No," Dean whispered. "No!" He dropped his arm, his thick fingers clumsily felt for a pulse on Sam's neck. Dean buried his face against Sam's shoulder and wrapped an arm around his little brother's back pulling him into a tight embrace. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy. You hear me? You're gonna be okay."_

………………….…………………………………….**Chapter Eight**…………………………………………………….….

For the longest ten seconds in Dean's life, his brother didn't draw a breath. He sighed in relief when Sam's chest muscles rolled and he coughed violently, expelling sand with each bark. He tired quickly, his head lolling against Dean's arm. The first puffs of erratic breaths against Dean's neck caused of rush of relief to run through his veins. Every exhale a gift, helping slow Dean's frantically beating heart.

Sam was alive.

Dean could feel the fine tremors coursing through his brother's body. He shifted until Sam's head rested in the crook of his neck causing sweat to pool there, but Dean didn't care. "Sammy," he said finally, shaking the younger man lightly. "Hey, stay awake." Sam opened his eyes, slits of glazed hazel roved around without focusing and closed again.

"Dean, we need to stop the bleeding," Father Rodriguez said. "Then we must leave before darkness falls. The animals come out when the sun goes down."

He acknowledged the priest with a head nod. Father Rodriguez set the medical kit down in front of Dean. "Pressure bandages, Sam first," Dean instructed. The pair worked quickly and silently, wrapping Sam's arm firmly with the self-adhesive bandage.

The air shimmered around them, but Dean doubted it was the heat distorting his vision. It was accompanied by light-headedness and a sudden nausea that brought bile rushing to the top of his throat. He barely had time to turn his head before the burning line of sick hit the sand. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Your turn," Father Rodriguez said, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder. He didn't resist when the priest grabbed his arm and started wrapping it. Dean pushed sweaty bangs off Sam's forehead with his free hand.

"It's going to take us at least forty-five minutes to get down the mesa," Dean said, shading his eyes. "Do you know a faster way back to town?"

"No, but I do have a faster vehicle on that rough road," Father Rodriguez said.

"Uh-uh, no way," Dean said, pulling out of the priest's grasp. He glanced down at Sam, the younger man's pale face glistened with sweat. When it came down to Sam or the Impala it wasn't a contest, but that didn't mean he liked the idea of his baby sitting out in the remote desert all night. "Fine. You're right. We'll take your car."

"Sheriff Brady and I will come back for your car first thing in the morning," the older man said in a reassuring tone. Father Rodriguez finished bandaging Dean's arm and handed him a bottle of water. "See if you can get him to drink something while I pack the supplies."

Dean scowled at the obvious distraction ploy. He scooted closer to his brother, ignoring the heat radiating off the sand through his jeans. He sat, shading Sam as best he could, bracing the younger man against bent knees. "Come on, Sam, you have to drink a little. Get the taste of sand out of your mouth."

Sam responded, gulping down sloppy mouthfuls of water, a great majority of it ending up on the front of his shirt. Dean pulled the bottle away, afraid his brother would make himself sick. "Thirsty," Sam rasped.

"You can have some more before we head down," Dean assured him. "Don't want you getting sick."

"Too late," Sam said, the corners of his mouth twitched nearly imperceptibly. He blinked hazel eyes open, immediately squeezing them shut tight against the sun.

"Was that a joke?" Dean asked, incredulous. "You're joking?" He slapped Sam lightly on the chest for emphasis.

A part of Dean was proud of his brother, while the other part wanted to strangle him for being a smart ass when they were both dehydrated and bleeding, not to mention Sam had scared him shitless when he'd quit breathing. Dean was never going to admit that, however. Still, he couldn't stop himself from tightening his grip, pulling Sam in to a sideways, awkward embrace.

Sam puffed a small laugh that dissolved into a coughing fit akin to a pack-a-day smoker's hack. It finished with a wheezing inhale, the younger man's fingers twining weakly in Dean's shirt. "Thank you."

"You're okay, I've got ya, Sammy," he crooned. "You're okay."

"No," Sam said, tightening his grip, "thank you for not doing anything stupid."

"Day's not over yet," Dean said with a grin. He knew what Sam meant, but there was no way he was confessing just how close he came to plunging the dagger in his chest before the blood from his wrist started the civatateo's heart beating.

Sam snorted, pulling away. "It's over? She's gone, right?" He coughed several times and it left him panting, breathless.

"Yeah, you did good, Sammy," Dean said, gently rubbing circles on his brother's back. "Think you can walk?"

Sam frowned, his face twisted in concentration as he considered Dean's question. "Yeah," he answered, finally. "Can you give me a minute?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean said. Sam's answer was not terribly reassuring, but he hadn't expected any other response from his brother. Their Dad had raised them to be tough, to ride it out, and to finish the job. It didn't mean much beyond Sam would have to fall on his face before he'd admit he couldn't do it.

A single bird tweeted in a cheerful song from the branches of a mesquite bush. A chorus of cicadas buzzed in a percussive cacophony. Even the rocks and sand themselves seemed to sizzle audibly in the intense heat. Sam's lungs squeaked with each exhale, the sand having irritated his airway. Dean shifted, moving out from behind his brother. He kept one arm wrapped around Sam's back supporting the younger man. "I'm ready," Sam said, his eyes blinking wearily.

"We're waiting for Father Rodriguez," Dean said, patting Sam lightly on the arm. He frowned at the younger man's head nod which seemed to be more uncontrolled bobbing than actual muscle control.

A shadow fell over the brothers. Dean looked up at the priest. "We should hurry," Father Rodriguez said. He bent to help lift Sam to standing, bracing the youngest Winchester and draping a limp arm over one of his shoulders. Dean moved to do the same on the other side. Sam sagged between them, his legs not bearing any weight.

"Hang on, kiddo," Dean coached. "I got ya."

"You're hurt, too," Sam insisted, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. He shuffled his feet on the shifting sand, trying to gain his footing.

"This?" Dean asked, holding up his bandaged arm. He waited until Sam planted his feet and straightened his legs, taking just a little of his own weight. "It's nothing, I'm fine." Dean ignored both the snort from his brother and the odd look from the priest. He reached down, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. "We'll take it slow and easy."

"The path's not wide enough to walk three abreast," Father Rodriguez said, talking over Sam's slumped form to Dean. "Not for the middle steeper portion."

"I've got him," Dean said, his tone firm. "It won't be a problem." The priest opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, changing to a head nod. Dean considered it a wise decision.

The steep grade proved more challenging than even determined, Winchester pig-headedness could conquer. Jumping cholla reached out to snag Dean's shirt, leaving a burning path of scratches along his side. The blood loss had taken a toll on him, too, and he staggered under Sam's weight. In a wordless gesture, the older man offered to take a turn. Dean signaled his defeat with a small head nod.

Sam mumbled as the change took place. Dean frowned. He had serious doubts about whether there was any real coherency on Sam's part or not. The younger man stumbled as he went through the motions of walking. "It's okay, Sammy, we're almost there," Dean said.

"Liar," Sam accused, lifting his head to glance in Dean's direction. The glassy hazels didn't seem to focus. He doubted Sam could see him at all.

"No, just bullshitting," Dean said with a smirk.

Sam puffed a weak laugh. "Good to know." The effort of talking seemed to exhaust the younger man. He stumbled, losing his balance entirely. The lead weight that was Sam nearly brought the priest to his knees, but he recovered when Dean grabbed Sam's waistband and hauled him to his feet.

"Sorry for the wedgie, Sammy, but if you're not gonna stay on your feet, it forces my hand," Dean said. He sniggered, amused by his own joke. He hoped the attempt at humor would hide how worried he was from his brother.

Sam lifted his head, tendrils of chestnut strands stuck to his sweaty forehead. It didn't hide the deep wrinkles in his forehead. "M'fine, Dean, the curse, the civateo, she's…" Sam's panting explanation was interrupted by another coughing fit. Dean stopped, motioning Father Rodriguez to do the same. They were almost to the bottom, but Sam needed a break.

The coughing didn't stop this time.

Sam's fingers weakly scrabbled at his throat as he tried to catch a breath. Dean took a step closer, wrapped an arm around his brother, bending him slightly forward. The extra gravity seemed to do the trick and moments later a wad of saliva and sand hit the dusty ground. The younger man drew in shallow, wheezing breaths.

Sam'd almost died; his heart had actually stopped, Dean was sure of it. Now, _his_ heart started pumping, the gravity of the situation truly catching up to him. Sam wasn't safe yet, he was weak, sick, and suffering under the desert sun. Frustration bubbled up at Sam's attempt to reassure him. "You're _not _fine," Dean growled. "And the civatateo may be gone, but that bitch still did a number on you. Until you can walk under your own power, how about we agree I get to call the shots?"

"I just meant," Sam stopped, acquiescing when Dean scowled.

The older hunter put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We need to get down the hill, Sam. You lost a lot of blood up there." Dean jerked his head in the direction of the altar.

"You did as well," Father Rodriguez interjected. He pointed at Dean's arm with his free hand. "You are bleeding through the bandage."

Sam whipped his head up, brow crinkled, eyebrows drawn together in worry. Dean leveled a glare at the priest. "Thanks," Dean said, sarcastically.

"We should wrap more bandages around both your arms," Father Rodriguez suggested. He dropped the duffel to the ground, allowing Dean to take the full burden of his brother. Dean glowered, easing onto a low rock, taking Sam to the ground with him.

The rock was scorching hot, the heat burning through his jeans in record time. Dean was glad he'd guided Sam into sitting on his boots, back resting against Dean's legs. He fidgeted, trying to get comfortable on the hot stone. "What's wrong?" Sam asked, twisting to glance back at him.

"My ass is hot," Dean said. Silence hung heavy in the air for several seconds, then he chuckled.

"Not touching that," Sam mumbled, slumping back against Dean's legs.

Dean noticed the back of the younger man's shirt had lines of salt from evaporating sweat, and his breathing was shallow. Sam needed off the mesa and he needed medical attention. Anxiety rose again, but Dean aggressively tamped it down. He could fall apart later, when Sam wasn't around to see it.

Father Rodriguez handed Dean a bottle of water and at the hunter's nod, set to work on Sam first. Dean took a swig, the tepid water soothing his dry throat. "Sips," Dean commanded, handing the bottle to Sam. "I don't want you getting sick and puking." He caught the scowl on Sam's face, but the younger man did as ordered, taking only small sips of water.

Father Rodriguez made quick work of applying additional layers of bandages, and they were headed down the trail in mere minutes. By the time they reached the priest's SUV, Dean was certain they were being baked alive by the desert sun and Sam seemed barely aware of his surroundings. Father Rodriguez opened the doors and lowered the back seat, spreading two blankets across the interior. "You should get situated first and then I'll help him inside," the priest suggested.

"Yeah, okay," Dean said. He placed the duffel in the corner, using it as a backrest. With a bit of twisting and pulling, they were able to get Sam into the vehicle. Dean fumbled inside his pocket, his fingers finding the warm metal inside. "Hey!" he shouted, garnering the priest's attention, then tossing him the keys. "The extra medical supplies are in the back seat in the cooler. Lock her up when you're done."

"Si, okay," Father Rodriguez agreed.

The air inside the vehicle was oppressive, the heat scorching his lungs on each inhale. It reminded Dean of the winter they'd spent in Minnesota when temperatures had plummeted to 110 below with the wind-chill. It felt similar to the burn of the extremely cold air, that same constrictive, lung collapsing sensation magnified ten-fold. Sam struggled to breathe, gasping like a beached fish. The SUV didn't just feel like an oven, it was one.

Dean quickly pulled Sam's t-shirt off, then removed his boots and socks. Dean's shirt followed, which he folded, placing his brother's on top and tucking it under Sam's head. "Hey, you with me, Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam groaned, his eyes fluttering open, then closing again. "Yeah," the younger man said, his voice a throaty stage-whisper.

"Listen, I know you don't like IVs and, I can't say I disagree, but I don't see a choice here," Dean said, rubbing a thumb in small circles on Sam's arm as a pre-apology. "We're over an hour from town."

Slits of glassy hazel gazed up at him. "Yeah, okay," Sam conceded softly. The capitulation concerned Dean nearly as much as his brother's hot skin and weak movements. Sam struggled against the current. As much as he had always desired to fit in, Dean's little brother was never content just going with the flow.

Father Rodriguez filled the open passenger door, supplies in hand. "They didn't get too hot?" Dean asked. If the white utility vehicle was hot, the Impala had to be broiling.

"No, you packaged them well," Father Rodriguez replied. He handed Dean the tubing, hanging the saline bag from the clothes hook by the door. He leaned through, depositing the small cooler beside Dean. "There's still a little ice in the packs at the bottom."

Dean nodded, barely acknowledging the priest. Sam's skin pulled tight from dehydration, but Dean started the IV with little difficulty, securing it with tape to his brother's arm. The younger man's face twitched, but otherwise he didn't react. The tape curled and Dean added an additional piece. On a normal day, it might have been annoying, but today, the sweat that caused the curling tape was a reassurance. He didn't even notice Father Rodriguez had shut the door until the engine started and the vehicle lurched to life.

Hot air buffeted Dean as he continued to triage his brother. He placed the partially melted ice packs against Sam's arm pits and neck, and elevated his feet slightly on the duffel bag. Dean's vision swam. He pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. "Don't get sick, don't pass out," he whispered, coaching himself. He sipped from a bottle of water as soon as he was able to get his roiling stomach under control.

The Ford hit a bump, shaking its occupants. Sam didn't react at all to the jarring, his head bouncing off the shirt pillow, one foot sliding off the duffel. Dean bit back a curse, situating everything properly again. He grimaced, picking up one of his brother's socks expecting to find a sweaty ball of cotton, but it had already dried stiff in the hot, arid air. He swirled it around in the water at the bottom of the cooler, then used it to wipe Sam's torso, arms, and face. He patted it into place on the younger man's forehead. Sam could complain later if he didn't like a sweat sock facial.

Fear spawned another attack of nausea. Dean placed a hand against the back of the driver's seat to steady himself. "Eat some of the pretzels," Father Rodriguez suggested, "and drink water. You need to replenish salt and liquids."

Dean was too sick to respond past glaring at the priest. After he fought back a wave of dizziness, Dean nibbled on pretzels, sipping water between bites. They didn't even taste salty. His eyes widened with realization, they were both very dehydrated. Thankfully, the intravenous fluids would help Sam faster than bottled water and pretzels. He kept a close eye on Sam, periodically bathing him with the water from the cooler. It was now very warm water, but the liquid evaporating from Sam's skin was working to cool him slightly. The air conditioner had finally started blowing cold and when Father Rodriguez rolled up the windows the change in environmental temperature was immediate.

The hour and forty minutes to town passed in a blur of a caring for Sam and keeping himself from getting sick. By the time Father Rodriguez pulled into the one wing hospital, Sam was looking better. His skin was cooler to the touch, still hot, but not alarmingly so and he stirred when the Ford came to a stop.

"D'n?" Hazel cat eyes blinked lazily in the fading sunlight.

"Right here, Sam," Dean said, popping the door open. "We're going to get you taken care of."

Sam frowned, his entire face puckering in confusion. He swallowed hard. "Where?"

"The hospital," Dean said. He heard fast running footsteps behind him.

"Sir, we need you to stand aside," a voice behind Dean instructed. He spared one last look at his brother before stepping to the left. He heard the muffled conversation as a female paramedic leaned into the car, but his brain was having difficulty putting it all together. Before he could get a handle on Sam's condition they were wheeling his brother inside.

"This one as well," Father Rodriguez said, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean shook his head, the movement upsetting his equilibrium and he listed sideways smacking hard into the side of the SUV. "What's happening to Sam?" he asked, even as he was guided down into a wheelchair. "How's my brother?"

"We're taking care of your brother," a man said, crouching low beside Dean. The hunter scowled, not happy with the blanket response. He attempted to stand, only to have a strong hand on his shoulder push him back down. "Hey, I've got a little sister. I understand. Let me get you inside, and I'll explain what's going on with Sam while they are examining you."

Dean nodded reluctantly. "Fine." He could get the information he needed and then find Sam.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

He was cold, which seemed odd because the last thing he remembered his brain felt like it was frying. Sam licked his chapped lips, shifting on the hard bed.

"Sam?"

_Dean? Thank God. _Sam turned his head, blinking to clear the grit from his eyes. "Hey," he said, greeting his brother. He'd thought, no, he'd been terrified that after he passed out up on the mesa Dean would do something drastic and reckless. Sam had a vague recollection of stumbling beside his brother down the hill, but the dreams had left him wondering. Sam took a good look at Dean. He had dark circles under his eyes and a day's worth of stubble on his chin. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. They pumped me full of liquids, same as you, and cut me loose," Dean said, scrubbing a hand down his face, scratching at the extra growth. "How do you feel?"

Sam paused, he hadn't really thought about it. "Lighter." He noticed the bandage on Dean's forearm, then belatedly the one on his own.

"Lighter?" Dean asked, pulling his chair closer.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know how else to describe it. I was tired before and it…felt like I was filling up with sand, heavy, exhausted."

"And now you're just exhausted," Dean said, nodding in understanding. He'd obviously picked up on Sam's omission.

"Yeah," Sam admitted with a yawn, "but better than before." He squirmed under the scrutiny feeling like a bug under a microscope. That's when he noticed unlike Dean, he was still connected to tubes, wiring and oxygen. He looked up at the half empty bag of saline. He wondered how long it would take for it to empty. He was already itching to get out of the hospital.

"Don't get any funny ideas, Sam," Dean said, his tone firm. "They said maybe late this afternoon and I don't see any reason to push it."

"This afternoon?" Sam asked, furrowing his brow. When had it become morning?

"It's seven-thirty in the morning," he supplied, apparently reading Sam's mind yet again. He yawned, stretching. Sam smiled faintly. Dean always seemed to enjoy a slow, arching, feline stretch. Sure enough, a tired grin appeared on his older brother's face. "I seriously need to find some coffee."

"You seriously need to catch some sleep and a shower," Sam said, a rough chuckle in his voice. "You look like crap, Dean." The older man had a fine layer of sand covering most of his face and peppering his hair.

"This from the man who's got the worst case of bed head I've ever seen." Dean made a sweeping gesture around his head to illustrate. "Sammy, you really ought to get a haircut."

"You," Sam said, pointing at his brother, "leave my hair alone."

Dean laughed. "One little incident with the Nair…"

"And the haircuts," Sam said, holding up two fingers, "two god-awful haircuts."

"Only one," Dean defended, "and only after Dad blamed your bangs for missing the shot during practice."

"Twice," Sam insisted. "You're forgetting the time when I was in second grade."

Dean frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration. The lines smoothed and a smile appeared when he remembered. "Dude, that wasn't a haircut. I was getting the gum out of your hair, Goldilocks."

"Peanut butter works," Sam said, sounding petulant to his own ears.

"Like I'd waste peanut butter on your hair," Dean said.

The curtain was pulled open sparing Sam the retort. "Breakfast," the nurse said, smiling at him.

"Thanks, Carol," Dean said, with a wide grin.

Carol expanded her smile to include Dean. "The oatmeal and juice are for Sam," she said. "Toast, eggs and coffee are for you."

"Aw, you did make me breakfast in bed," Dean said, obviously continuing a conversation Sam had slept through.

"No," Carol said, setting up the tray. "I made breakfast in bed for _Sam._" She made eye contact with Sam and winked. He grinned broadly, chuckling at the strangled look on Dean's face. Carol checked the readings on the instruments behind him, then removed the nasal canula. "You're doing great, Sam. I'd say there's a good chance the doctor will let you go home today."

"Good," Sam said. "Thanks." The nurse raised the head of his bed and positioned the bedside table before leaving the brothers alone in the room again. He reached for the coffee cup, the hot brown liquid irresistible. Dean slapped his hand away.

"No coffee for you," Dean said, snagging the mug. "Stick with your juice."

"Ah, come on, Dean," Sam said, licking his dry lips. "I _need _some coffee, man."

"It's a diuretic," Dean said, taking a sip. "No coffee for you until your skin stops looking like Arnold Vosloo's during the regeneration phase."

Sam mouthed Dean's words about no coffee, rolled his eyes, and took a sip of juice instead. He didn't miss the look of concern Dean flashed him. Sam took a bite of oatmeal. When his stomach rumbled, he realized just how hungry he was. It had been two days since he'd been able to keep any food down. They were both finishing the last of their breakfast when Sheriff Brady appeared in the doorway.

Brady tossed Dean the keys to the Impala. "Your car's out in the lot. She's a beaut."

"That she is," Dean said, jerking his head to the window. The older man squeezed past the brothers, taking a seat on the window ledge.

"Father Rodriguez tells me you stopped whatever was taking the kids," Sheriff Brady said.

"I'm not…" Dean started.

"I'll spare you the trouble of lying," Brady said, holding up his hand. "I know what happened on the mesa, what was wrong with your brother." The older man turned his attention to Sam. "How're you doing, Sam?"

"I'm fine," Sam said, pressing his hands against the mattress to push himself higher in the bed. "Have the kids returned?"

A wounded look crossed the older man's face. "No, not yet." He pulled a rumpled map out of his pocket. "I've been checking the places near where they disappeared, but I haven't found any signs."

Dean snagged the map from the Sheriff's loose grip and smoothed it out on Sam's bedside tray. Red lines circled each of the five spots where a child was presumed to have disappeared. Sam ran through the areas trying to find some way to correlate them. "Pen," Dean snapped, holding out a hand.

Brady dug in his pocket, handing Dean a pen. "What is it?"

Sam waved at the sheriff to silence him and watched his brother's face as he poured over the map, drawing lines, connecting sites. The two closest dots formed feet, another a bent triangle, a sloping back and then it came together. "It is," Dean said under his breath.

"It is what?" Brady asked, standing up and walking to the table.

Sam shot Dean an incredulous look; he never would have spotted that pattern, the connecting lines formed a stylized Aztec hummingbird. "It still doesn't tell us where the kids are," Dean growled.

"What doesn't?" Brady asked.

"Here's the church," Sam said, pointing to the bird's eye. "What's here?" He tapped a finger on the map over the spot where the heart would be.

"The old silver mine," Brady supplied. "Why?"

"Because that's where the kids are," Dean said, his voice rough.

"Could they still be alive?" Sam asked.

"If they had water," Sheriff Brady nodded. "Maybe." He was standing, moving out the door, cell phone in hand. Sam could hear the muffled conversation taking place just outside the room.

Dean's face was pinched, concern etched in every line. "Go," Sam said.

"No," Dean said, his mint green eyes deepening to mossy with worry and residual fear. "I'm going back to the motel for clothes for you and to grab a quick shower. The experts have this one, Sam."

"Dean, I know you want to," Sam said. "Just go, I'm fine." His older brother looked torn. "I'm fine," he repeated.

Sheriff Brady stepped back into the room. "I have two deputies and the volunteer search and rescue headed out to the mine. It's only an hour away, Dean, do you want to ride out with me? With any luck, they'll have found the kids by then."

Dean glanced back in his direction and Sam smiled. "Go."

………………………………………………………..**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………

AN: Sorry guys, RL has interfered with my writing for several weeks now. I'm plugging away at chapter nine and hope to have it finished soon! Thanks for all your support – it means a lot!


	9. Chapter 9

**Vampires Were People Too**

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Theirs.

**Beta'd: **_With special thanks to Carocali, Muffy and Phx. _

**Time Line: **Snuggled between _**Houses of the Holy**_ and _**Born Under a Bad Sign**_**.**

**AN: **Okay, it's the truth this time. This is the very last chapter of Vampires. I almost can't believe it is finished. For those of you who took the time to read and hang in there for it – I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you for your patience.

It's been forever since I posted so I put in a fairly lengthy rewind. If you are reading straight from chapter 8 or have an excellent memory (LOL) scroll down about a page. Hee.

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"_Father Rodriguez tells me you stopped whatever was taking the kids," Sheriff Brady said. _

"_I'm not…" Dean started._

"_I'll spare you the trouble of lying," Brady said, holding up his hand. "I know what happened on the mesa, what was wrong with your brother." The older man turned his attention to Sam. "How're you doing, Sam?"_

"_I'm fine," Sam said, pressing his hands against the mattress to push himself higher in the bed. "Have the kids returned?"_

_A wounded look crossed the older man's face. "No, not yet." He pulled a rumpled map out of his pocket. "I've been checking the places near where they disappeared, but I haven't found any signs."_

_Dean snagged the map from the Sheriff's loose grip and smoothed it out on Sam's bedside tray. Red lines circled each spot of the five spots where a child was presumed to have disappeared. Sam ran through the areas, trying to find some way to correlate them. "Pen," Dean snapped, holding out a hand._

_Brady dug in his pocket, handing Dean a pen. "What is it?"_

_Sam waved at the sheriff to silence him and watched his brother's face as he poured over the map, drawing lines, connecting sites. The two closest dots formed feet, another a bent triangle, a sloping back and then it came together. "It is," Dean said under his breath._

"_It is what?" Brady asked, standing up and walking to the table. _

_Sam shot Dean an incredulous look; he never would have spotted that pattern, the connecting lines forming a stylized Aztec hummingbird. "It still doesn't tell us where the kids are," Dean growled._

"_What doesn't?" Brady asked._

"_Here's the church," Sam said, pointing to the bird's eye. "What's here?" He tapped a finger on the map over the spot where the heart would be._

"_The old silver mine," Brady supplied. "Why?"_

"_Because that's where the kids are," Dean said, his voice rough. _

"_Could they still be alive?" Sam asked._

"_If they had water," Sheriff Brady nodded. "Maybe." He was standing, moving out the door, cell phone in hand. Sam could hear the muffled conversation taking place just outside the room._

_Dean's face was pinched, concern etched in every line. "Go," Sam said. _

"_No," Dean said, his mint green eyes deepening to mossy with worry and residual fear. "I'm going back to the motel for clothes for you and to grab a quick shower. The experts have this one, Sam."_

"_Dean, I know you want to," Sam said. "Just go, I'm fine." His older brother looked torn. "I'm fine," he repeated. _

_Sheriff Brady stepped back into the room. "I have two deputies and the volunteer search and rescue headed out to the mine. It's only an hour away, Dean, do you want to ride out with me? With any luck, they'll have found the kids by then."_

_Dean glanced back in his direction and Sam smiled. "Go."_

………………………………………………………..**Chapter Nine**……………………………………………………………

The city of Lordsburg, New Mexico had disappeared from the rearview mirror nearly an hour ago. Although it was only mid-morning, the orange-pink sand glittered like small jewels. Cacti and hardy, shrub-like, chaparral dotted the red and brown rock landscape. Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, stifling a yawn.

He was tired, no other word for it. Two all-nighters in a row and no real hope for any sleep until late tonight seemed to have caused his brain to swell, pushing against the confines of his skull and forcing his eyeballs out of their sockets. At least, that's the way it felt.

Dean glanced over at Jeff Brady. The rough and ready Sheriff had extended him the offer of accompanying him on the rescue effort. You couldn't turn down an offer like that without insulting the man who'd made it. Small, remote towns were a closed society all their own and the fact that Father Rodriguez, Maria and now Jeff were inviting them in was a miracle all its own.

He blinked rapidly trying to clear his blurry eyes. Coffee or sleep, he definitely needed one of those things. "There's some coffee in the thermos," Brady said, jerking his head towards the backseat. "Help yourself."

"Thanks," Dean said, twisting around to snag the thermos. The rich aroma of coffee wafted out of the canister, filling the car's interior. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff," Dean said with a moan.

Sheriff Brady chuckled, brushing graying locks off his forehead. "Are you going to make love to that coffee or drink it?"

"Who says I have to choose?" Dean asked, taking a large whiff of roasted bean steam before taking a noisy sip. He closed his eyes as the heavenly liquid made its journey down his throat. He opened them and grinned at the older man. "Thanks, man. I needed this."

"You're welcome," Brady replied. He squinted against the sunlight, retrieving sunglasses from the visor. "Listen, Dean, the old mines are dangerous. You need to stay with me. If you think of something that will help us find the children, you tell me and I'll send the boys in that direction. I don't want to be the one to tell that brother of yours that you got yourself killed out here."

Dean winced. They'd had enough close calls this hunt to last him for a lifetime. "Got it. I'll be an annoyingly persistent shadow."

One of Brady's thick, bushy eyebrows rose over the top of his sunglasses. "You better mean that, kid."

"Scout's honor," Dean said, holding up three fingers.

"Now, why don't I find that terribly reassuring?" Sheriff Brady chuckled. He pulled the car to a stop in a makeshift parking lot in front of an old shack with a rusting roof.

Sun glinted off the metal roof and Dean could tell, just like every other day so far, it was hot already. Sure, it was a dry heat unlike the humidity of the Midwest, but dry only bought you so many degrees before it was simply unbearable. He decided then and there, the next hunt was somewhere on an ocean beach or in mountains that still had snow, at least somewhere where the tarmac didn't literally soften as the day wore on. He shaded his eyes against the sun and stepped out of the car to join the sheriff who was already walking to the mine's entrance. "Everyone else already inside?" Dean asked, briefly jogging to catch up.

"Yep," Brady said, handing Dean a flashlight as he switched another one on, "we'll meet up with them later. Watch your head." At 5'10" the sheriff had to duck to walk through the stone entrance. Dean, three inches taller, had to hunch his shoulders and bend forward at the waist. He laughed lightly picturing Sam, who had three more inches on him trying to walk in the mine. Heat radiated off the rocks, instantly causing sweat to roll down Dean's back.

"Feels like an oven in here," Dean complained under his breath.

"It gets better once the shaft opens up," Brady called back. Dean wasn't sure if the sheriff meant the heat or the ability stand upright, but he'd take either right about now. The ground sloped slightly downward, the ceiling up and soon the men found themselves with plenty of room to stand and the temperature was decidedly cooler.

The air had a distinctive mineral-mold scent to it. Dean wrinkled his nose, pushing the odor away, ignoring it as something that wasn't useful to the task at hand. The main shaft was wide enough to walk abreast as they searched the dark rock interior. Crunching footsteps broke the heavy silence between them. Dean shined his flashlight down the first adjoining shaft to his right, the light reflecting off metal. "What's that?" he asked.

"It's a storage area for gear," Brady said, adding his light to Dean's. "The miners stored expensive equipment, gear, and first aid supplies in these locked cages. There're several shafts like this throughout the mine."

Dean raised an eyebrow at the barrel-chested sheriff. He jerked his head in the direction of the metal fencing. "Some deeper down?"

"Yeah," Brady said, drawing out the word. His face dawned with the realization of Dean's implication. He unclipped his walkie-talkie. "Deputy Chad, this is Sheriff Brady."

"Yes, sir," came the reply over the walkie.

"Concentrate on the old storage cages in the supply shafts. We think the kids may be in one of those locked areas." Brady gave Dean a knowing glance. "Travis, it's been over a week for Tommy, and we don't really know what supplies they were given, so be prepared."

"Roger that, Sheriff," Deputy Chad responded. The line went dead and Brady clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt.

"We'll check the ones near the front in case they didn't," Brady said.

Dean nodded, falling into step beside the sheriff. "We'll find them," he said, his tone certain. "They're fine. We'll find them."

"Son, I appreciate your optimism, but we're just taking a shot in the dark here," Brady said.

"They're here," Dean said, aiming his flashlight down another side shaft. Nothing. Dean bit back frustration. He wasn't returning to Maria without Carmelita.

The duo walked in solemn silence, beams from their flashlights jutting into every dark corner and crevice. Dean's empty hand clenched into a fist as his anxious desire to find the children mounted. Sam had explained how the civatateo sucked the life force from its victims the way vampires drank blood to survive. He knew they would find the kids here, he just desperately hoped it was in time to find them alive.

Distantly, the hunter heard the high-pitched squeaking of bats. He suppressed a shiver. As far as Dean was concerned bats were essentially rats with wings. The sheriff's radio crackled to life. "Sheriff Brady, we found 'em," Deputy Chad said, excitement in every note. "All of them. Little Tommy's in pretty rough shape, we're on our way back to you."

"Copy that," Sheriff Brady said, a wide smile cracking his face. "I'll organize the EMTs." He clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Looks like you were right, Dean."

While Brady walked away to radio for medical assistance, Dean peered into the darkness, waiting for the lights of the rescuers. It wasn't a long wait, the bobbing beams indicating the others were drawing close. Two deputies and a local man came into sight. One of the deputies carried a young boy in his arms, the other two men led a child by the hand. Carmelita's round, brown eyes and pale, tear-streaked face cut Dean to the quick. He knelt down in front of the girl, grasping her shoulders. "Carmelita?"

The young girl's expression didn't change, but she reached out, wrapping thin arms around Dean's neck. He returned the hug, scooping her up. He nodded to the deputy before turning around to walk out of the mine. Getting through the low hanging entrance wasn't easy with the young girl hanging off his neck, but Dean wasn't about to put her down. Clearing the mine, he stood and bright sunlight assaulted his eyes. Carmelita groaned, and he pulled the girl closer, shielding her face from the unforgiving rays.

The waiting paramedics were being directed by Sheriff Brady. A smiling woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes tried to peel Carmelita from Dean. The youngster tightened her grip, pulling on the fine hairs on the back of his neck. "It's okay, I gotcha," Dean said, patting her back, trying to soothe Carmelita.

"Sir, we need to examine her," the woman paramedic said, attempting once again to pry Carmelita away. "We'll be taking her to the hospital and you can meet us there."

Carmelita shook her head, burrowing deeper into Dean's shoulder. "She's okay," Dean said, turning slightly to break the paramedic's grip. "Sheriff Brady and I will see she gets to the hospital."

"Sir, I can't…"

"We got her, Jenna," Brady interrupted.

"Yes, Sheriff," Jenna said. "We're getting ready to head out. Try to get her to drink some water on the way in, okay?"

"Will do," Brady answered. He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder guiding him back to the cruiser.

Dean climbed into the backseat finding it easier to stretch out with the young girl still clinging to him like a spider monkey. Brady started the car, rolled down the windows, and turned on the air conditioner. The cruiser followed a discrete distance from the ambulance, minimizing the chances of any dry, metallic dust blowing into the car kicked up from the emergency vehicle.

Carmelita cried against his shoulder. "I just want to go home."

"I know," Dean said, "but you need to let a doctor check you out. Your mom will meet us there, I promise."

Carmelita lifted her head to look him in the eyes. "She will?"

"Absolutely," Dean said, "she's been frantic."

The girl nodded, her dirty face streaked by drying tears. "What about Sam?"

Dean smiled, dropping a hand onto the top of her head. "He's at the hospital, but he's going to be fine."

Scraggly brown hair brushed his face when Carmelita nodded against his shoulder. "I missed my mama."

"She'll be there," Dean said again. He opened a bottle of water, but the young girl only took a few sips before refusing more and literally collapsing against him, asleep with exhaustion.

"Thank God you boys were here," Sheriff Brady said, looking at Dean through the rearview mirror. "It's a miracle we found those kids alive."

"I don't think _God _had anything to do with it," Dean said, unable to keep the tone of bitterness out of his voice. "And most miracles I've seen come with a price tag." He couldn't help the swelling of guilt remembering the cost of his 'miracle.' Layla hadn't received her second chance and an innocent man had died. He didn't blame Sam, he couldn't. He already knew he'd do whatever it took to save Sam's life, just like his brother had done for him, not that Sam had known. Dean would pay the price, whatever it was, and pick up the pieces later. This hunt had proven that to him.

The Sheriff interrupted his internal musings with a short bark of laughter. "That's the great thing about God, son. Don't matter none if you believe in him. He still believes in you."

Dean snorted. "You suppose Santa believes in me, too?"

The sheriff frowned, effectively ending their mini-theological discussion. Brady's words continued to poke at him, but Dean brushed them off. He'd been given two signs recently concerning God, and the nature of things, and while it had given him pause to consider the possibility, Dean knew what he believed. Life was full of random evil and pain. That was the real truth. The remainder of the trip continued in silence, save for the quiet strains of country western winding through the cruiser and an occasional soft whimper from the child snuggled in his arms.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam opened his eyes half expecting to see Dean sitting next to him only to find Father Rodriguez. "Good afternoon, Samuel," the priest said, a small smile playing across his face. "I see you have decided to have lunch after all. Megan said she would be by with it in approximately fifteen minutes." He looked at his watch. "That was seven minutes ago."

Sam stretched, mindful of sore muscles and bruises. He thought he'd be feeling better already, but the heavy weight of exhaustion and malaise continued to plague him. "I'm not really hungry."

"And yet, you will eat or I shall be forced to inform Dean." Father Rodriguez raised an eyebrow, tilting his head marginally in Sam's direction. "Something tells me he won't be pleased."

"Are you threatening to tattle on me to my _brother_?" Sam asked incredulously. "You are aware I'm an adult?" The priest merely smiled, settling back into his chair. Sam shook his head. The priest's threat was ridiculous. It was insulting. It was – going to work. He sighed. _Damn._

He looked up when the door quickly opened, but it wasn't the nurse bringing his tray or his brother as he expected. It was an elated Maria, Roberto fairly jumping up and down beside her, the baby asleep on her shoulder. "Sam, the sheriff radioed ahead. They found Carmelita and the other children!"

The young hunter breathed a sigh of relief. "¡Loado sea Dios!" Father Rodriguez exclaimed, standing to embrace Maria, baby and all. "¿Cómo están los niños?"

"Two of them are very ill," Maria admitted, with downcast eyes. The brown depths glistened with unshed tears when she met the priest's eyes. "But Carmelita was asking for me." She turned to look at Sam. "And you."

"Me?" Sam scooted up higher in the bed. "Why?"

"You were very sick the last time Carmelita saw you," Maria explained. "She has been worried. She saw what it did to me. She knows what her father did to save me. Carmelita is very observant."

"I noticed." Sam cracked a smile. Some things about oldest siblings seemed to be universal.

"I have to go," Maria said, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "They should be arriving soon. Good-bye, Sam."

"Bye," Sam said, waving a farewell. Roberto twisted around to return the wave even as he was pulled out the door by his mother. "You can go, too," he said to the priest. "I know you'll want to be there for those families."

"I will be," Father Rodriguez replied, steeping his fingers. "However, first I will wait for your brother."

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted by the nurse bringing his lunch tray. She placed it on the bedside table, walking over to his IV to check the bag. "Looks like you'll be getting this out soon. It's almost gone." She adjusted the tray over his bed and gave Sam a smile. "Assuming, of course, you prove you're willing to eat your food like a big boy."

He turned his head to glare at the priest who chuckled lightly. "Did you pay her to say that?"

"I assure you, that is Megan's own brand of wit," Father Rodriguez said. "I could not have planned it better."

"Thanks," Sam said sarcastically, turning back to the perky redhead.

"Any time," Megan said. "I'll be back to get your vitals when I pick up your tray."

"Perfect," he said sullenly. Sam lifted the cover on plate. White fish, mashed potatoes, and corn, it was the palest meal he'd ever seen. "Perfect."

He eyed the translucent meat, poking it occasionally with his fork, trying to muster up the desire to try a bite. He glanced over at the priest to see if he was still hovering. Unfortunately for Sam, he was. Once he finally tried a bite, he realized how hungry he was now that sand wasn't taking up space in his stomach, and the food began to disappear.

"Sam, I want to thank you for everything you and your brother did for us," Father Rodriguez said, after Sam had eaten nearly half his lunch.

He cleared his throat, suddenly very self-conscious. What they did was rarely something the locals knew about and they were thanked for it even less often. While it was nice to hear for a change, it made him uncomfortable. Sam shrugged. "It's what we do."

The priest nodded. "Yes, Ellen was very clear on what type of people she was sending me, but I am not sure I really believed you were the answer to our prayers until I met you." Sam suddenly found his hands very interesting. "You do not believe in prayers?" Father Rodriguez asked.

"I used to," Sam said, quietly. "I'm not so sure anymore."

The priest placed his hand gently on Sam's shoulder. "Well, if it helps you decide, I am sure. You are both proof of it."

Sam couldn't think of a logical argument against the priest's assertion, so the rest of the meal continued in silence, each man lost in his own thoughts.

-0-0-

He must have fallen asleep again after Megan had removed his IV, helped him to the bathroom, and situated him back in bed, because the next thing Sam knew he was waking up. "You awake, Sammy?"

"Mmm," he hummed. Dean was back.

"If you can keep your eyes open for ten minutes, they may let you go home," Dean coaxed him.

Sam peeled his eyes open. "I'm awake."

The older man laughed, tilting his chair backward then letting it fall forward to rest firmly on the floor. "So I see." Green eyes raked over him, gauging, evaluating. Sam squared his shoulders and opened his eyes wider trying to look like he felt better. Somehow he didn't think it was working. "Then again, maybe you should stay overnight."

"I'm going to the motel," Sam said firmly, crossing his arms. He felt every bit a five-year-old.

"Sam." Dean dragged a hand tiredly down his face. "You look like crap."

"I feel better."

"Don't get me wrong. A few hours ago you looked like crap that had been dragged through the desert, left out too long in the sun, and pulverized. It's a definite improvement. But…you still look like crap." Dean smirked. Sam wanted to pinch him.

"Thanks. Nice." Sam ran a hand through his bangs and it stuck out in all directions. Sweat, Mother Nature's best styling product. Dean snorted and Sam shot him a dirty look. "Shut up. You're not looking so great there either."

"Hey, I'm sunburned and sandy, not a melting crapcicle on a stick." Dean's smile widened. "But, I see your point. You don't look that much different than normal."

Sam was in the middle of an obscene gesture when the nurse walked into the room. He hastily shoved his hand under the blankets and blushed guiltily. "Dean, I'm going to get Sam ready to leave if you want to go to the cafeteria for a snack or coffee."

"I'm good," Dean said, his tone allowing for no argument.

"Go on," Sam said, pulling the blankets up higher. "Megan, uh, said something about a shower and getting dressed. I doubt you want to be here for that."

The crinkles around Dean's eyes deepened. "Wouldn't want to salt your game, Sammy." He stood, patting the younger man on the leg. He walked partway out of the room, then stopped, turning around to address Sam. "I'll be back in twenty."

"I know." Sam waited until Dean left before turning his attention to the nurse. "We can be done by then, right?"

"Don't worry, Sam, I'll have you ready to go," Megan reassured him.

"Thank God."

True to her word, Sam was sitting in a wheelchair, fully dressed with recently tamed hair before Dean sauntered back into the room. He looked haggard and Sam racked his brain trying to remember the last time the older man had slept. Maria followed closely behind his brother, stepping around him when Dean paused near the doorway.

"Thank you for bringing my daughter home," Maria said, hugging a startled Dean. The older man awkwardly returned her hug before she turned to Sam. "And Father Rodriguez says your plan is what vanquished the civatateo. I cannot thank you enough." She bent down, enveloping him in a heart-felt embrace. Sam patted her gently on the back.

"You're welcome," Sam said. He pulled back, hazel eyes gazing intently into chocolate brown. "We left something important to you with Father Rodriguez. He'll make sure you get it back."

Maria straightened, smiling wide. "Thank you." The words were spoken softly, but heavy with the weight of sincerity.

"You're welcome," Sam replied, dimples sinking into his cheeks. Maria gently squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. She started to walk out the door, but Dean stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Ah, this is going to sound weird," he said. Sam cocked his head, wrinkling his brow. Dean continued, "When I was sighting my gun up there, I swear I saw a man with a blue face and feathers and then he was gone. You ever hear of anything like that?"

"Huitzpotchtl," Maria said, incredulously. "Dean, you saw him." She patted him on the arm, reaching up to give him a quick peck on his cheek. "Ce toltecatl ihuan ce ocelotl," she said, with something akin to awe in her voice. She smiled at them both, resting her hand on Sam's shoulder. "A good match for two heroes." She waved a good-bye as she walked out the door.

"The god?" Dean asked, his face scrunching in disbelief. "She doesn't really believe that, does she?"

"Dean, we just got rid of an ancient vampire with an obsidian knife and a blood sacrifice, but the Aztec god thing is tripping you up?" Sam nearly laughed at Dean's 'what the hell?' face. "The legend says only the bravest of warriors could look directly at Huitzpotchtl and they had to view him through the hole in their shields."

"Now, you're talking," Dean said. "It makes perfect sense." Sam threw his head back laughing, as Dean pushed him out the door.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Dean walked out of the bathroom, freshly showered, only to find Sam seated at the table typing away on his computer instead of nestled in bed as he had been for the last two days. Dean raised an eyebrow, questioning whether Sam should be up at all only to get a huff of annoyance from his brother. "It's not like I'm doing anything strenuous, Dean, and I've slept enough."

He took a seat across the table from the younger man, pleased to see his brother's color had returned to normal. Sam's eyes were alert, and other than the impressive case of bed-head he was sporting, he was finally looking like Sam again.

The cool stone tiles chilled his bare feet as Dean padded over to the carafe to retouch his coffee. He took a sip, grimacing. It was cold. Sitting down at the table again, Dean nodded in Sam's general direction. "Whatcha doing?"

"Surfing for porn," Sam deadpanned. Dean spluttered, causing coffee to spray everywhere.

"What?"

Sam smirked over the top of the computer. "I'm trying to find us a direction to head in next." Dean gave him a look that was well-interpreted by his brother. "Look, we're going to go stir-crazy if we stay here much longer and so help me, Dean, if you pull another stunt like you did in Portland…"

"Dude, that was classic," Dean interrupted, amused at the memory of the confused expression on Sam's face after Dean had hemmed his jeans a half inch higher every day for three days. "How much taller do you think you need to get, anyway?"

Sam pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't really matter. I'm already taller than you."

"Cute."

The smile on Sam's face slowly faded as his expression grew thoughtful. He tapped his thumb on the table several times. The younger man rubbed his hands on his jeans before finally speaking. "You should have let me go," he said, finally broaching the subject they'd been dancing around any time they were both awake at the same time the last two days.

Sam's eyes were wide, his eyebrows arched. It was _the look_ that usually broke through Dean's defenses and made him fold like a house of cards. This time, however, it just made him angry. "That's never going to happen, Sam," he growled, tapping the table with his finger for emphasis on each word. "Not now, not ever. You can't ask me to do that."

"Then, Dean?" Sam paused, continuing only once he made eye contact. "Try to understand why I couldn't, can't either. Ever. I know what I'm asking from you."

Dean felt annoyance flare up into anger now that he understood what point Sam was actually trying to drive home. He wasn't the one who had looked his brother in the eyes and begged him to kill him if he ever turned dark side. He wasn't the one who made his brother promise. Sam had done that. Dean stared at his brother, not saying a word, trying to form a response that wouldn't land them in an argument.

Sam's eyes were imploring him to understand something more than what he was saying, Dean could tell. He hadn't spent a lifetime learning to speak Sammy only to miss the big, puppy dog eyes. When the pieces slid into place Dean swallowed down a lump in his throat. Sam was asking Dean to forgive him, for what he'd asked, but he wasn't taking it back. He understood just how impossible the request was, but Sam trusted Dean with his life – and his death.

Dean shook his head. "Sam, it's not going to happen."

"It could," Sam pushed back.

"It _won't,_" Dean insisted, his voice rising.

"Dean, ignoring it won't make it not happen," Sam said in an all too patient voice. "It could happen."

"Okay, if you suddenly, inexplicably turn evil," Dean said, his voice indicating his true feelings. "I'll somehow manage, despite everything, to pull the proverbial plug." He looked up, knowing his eyes were giving away more than he wanted, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. He took a deep breath and threw all the sincerity he had into his next words. He needed Sam to hear him, too. "If I can't save you, or bring you back from whatever darkness you think you've landed in. Then, we'll talk."

Sam's face softened with relief. "Thanks, Dean."

The older man raised an eyebrow, leaning across the table and pointed a finger at his brother. "As long as it goes both ways."

"What?" Sam's eyebrows pulled in confusion. "Dean, you're not, there's no chance, you aren't evil and you never will be."

Dean sat back in his chair. "I'd say it's just as likely as _you _turning into a card carrying member of the Sith. Sam, we've only met a few hunters other than the ones Dad trusted when we were kids and they've all been freaks. Hard men, sometimes women, with lines of black and white that can't even begin to see the gray. They've lost some part of their humanity; they're so close to meting out justice without mercy that it's downright scary. Hell, after Dad died, I was pretty close to the line a couple of times myself."

"You weren't anything like them, Dean, and you certainly weren't evil," Sam said sharply, closing the laptop with a hard click.

Dean shook his head. "I was close, Sammy, to that line. All it takes for anyone is one loss too many, one hurt too deep, anyone can slip over the edge."

"It doesn't mean you can't be helped back over," Sam said. "It's all about choices."

Dean nodded, a sad smile spreading across his face. He stood, dragging his chair around the table to sit next to his brother, shoulders barely brushing. "Exactly. That's why I said only if there's no other choice, and only if it goes both ways." Sam was shaking his head, so Dean added his last punch. "I trust you with my death, too, Sammy."

Sam slowly nodded, making eye contact with Dean. "Yeah, okay. It goes both ways." There was a lengthy period of silence before Sam cleared his throat and continued. "So, I uh, found something that looks like it could be our kind of weird over in West Texas."

Texas, if they took it slow stopping often to rest for the night, Dean could stretch it to a week's traveling time. That should be long enough for Sam to be almost back up to par. Except, it definitely sounded hot and Dean wasn't okay with that. "Too hot."

"You're kidding me?"

"Not even barely."

"Dean…" Sam hit him with the tone and the eyes again. It wasn't worth the struggle.

"Fine, okay."

"Great," Sam said, easing himself to standing. He walked over to get clothes to put on after his shower. Dean was pleased to see that while Sam was still moving slowly and carefully, he no longer appeared to be in pain or shuffled like an old man. The younger man disappeared behind the bathroom door and the water started running.

One week should be just about enough time for them to get back to normal. Dean couldn't hope for more than that. Enough time for all the recent events to fade, and conversations like the one they'd just had, wouldn't be sitting on the surface waiting to be rehashed. It should be enough time for him to get over his fears regarding Sam's brush with death.

Dean would continue to believe all those things were possible, until eight days later Sam made a burger run in West Texas and he didn't come back.

………………….…………………………………....**Supernatural**…………………………………………………………

AN: TraSan does a happy dance. Woot! Woot! Thank you to all who have read this story (and for your extreme patience!). It's been a great trip!

This story was stalled for many weeks (more than once) only perking to life with consistent poking from _Leaving Slowly._

And to both _Carocali _and _Wysawyg _who offered feedback not only on what was written, but what was _not _written, consistently pushing me to add more, clarify, expand, remove, or change. A huge thank you to you both!

As well as _Phx _who pushed me past a yet another writer's block by saying, "Look I don't see what's so hard. Just say, 'xyz' and be done with it." I laughed at the time, but you'll notice girl – I pretty much used what you said verbatim. LOL! Seriously, all your words of wisdom were very much appreciated (as well as all the feedback).

Also to _Muffy Morrigan _who put up with me playing twenty questions about desert landscape, bugs, heat, plants, animals, noises, smells, etc. etc. Thanks for being so patient and for great feedback. Thanks for asking for the scene to be played out!

To any and all of you who read and patiently waited for me to pull my head out of the sand, wipe the dust from my eyes, and finish the story – many, many thanks.


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